Chapter 2
Their pilgrimage’s period A few swift moons have seen complete Since mother’s hands first clasped and shod The little feet.
III.
The little hands that never sought Earth’s prizes, worthless all as sands, What gift has death, God’s servant, brought The little hands?
We ask: but love’s self silent stands, Love, that lends eyes and wings to thought To search where death’s dim heaven expands.
Ere this, perchance, though love know nought, Flowers fill them, grown in lovelier lands, Where hands of guiding angels caught The little hands.
IV.
The little eyes that never knew Light other than of dawning skies, What new life now lights up anew The little eyes?
Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?
No storm, we know, may change the blue Soft heaven that haply death descries No tears, like these in ours, bedew The little eyes.
V.
Was life so strange, so sad the sky, So strait the wide world’s range, He would not stay to wonder why Was life so strange?
Was earth’s fair house a joyless grange Beside that house on high Whence Time that bore him failed to estrange?
That here at once his soul put by All gifts of time and change, And left us heavier hearts to sigh ‘Was life so strange?’
VI.
Angel by name love called him, seeing so fair The sweet small frame; Meet to be called, if ever man’s child were, Angel by name.
Rose-bright and warm from heaven’s own heart he came, And might not bear The cloud that covers earth’s wan face with shame.
His little light of life was all too rare And soft a flame: Heaven yearned for him till angels hailed him there Angel by name.
VII.
The song that smiled upon his birthday here Weeps on the grave that holds him undefiled Whose loss makes bitterer than a soundless tear The song that smiled.
His name crowned once the mightiest ever styled Sovereign of arts, and angel: fate and fear Knew then their master, and were reconciled.
But we saw born beneath some tenderer sphere Michael, an angel and a little child, Whose loss bows down to weep upon his bier The song that smiled.
ONE OF TWAIN.
I.
ONE of twain, twin-born with flowers that waken, Now hath passed from sense of sun and rain: Wind from off the flower-crowned branch hath shaken One of twain.
One twin flower must pass, and one remain: One, the word said soothly, shall be taken, And another left: can death refrain?
Two years since was love’s light song mistaken, Blessing then both blossoms, half in vain? Night outspeeding light hath overtaken One of twain.
II.
Night and light? O thou of heart unwary, Love, what knowest thou here at all aright, Lured, abused, misled as men by fairy Night and light?
Haply, where thine eyes behold but night, Soft as o’er her babe the smile of Mary Light breaks flowerwise into new-born sight.
What though night of light to thee be chary? What though stars of hope like flowers take flight? Seest thou all things here, where all see vary Night and light?
DEATH AND BIRTH.
DEATH and birth should dwell not near together: Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth: Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether Death and birth.
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?
Ill the rose-red and the sable feather Blend in one crown’s plume, as grief with mirth: Ill met still are warm and wintry weather, Death and birth.
BIRTH AND DEATH.
BIRTH and death, twin-sister and twin-brother, Night and day, on all things that draw breath, Reign, while time keeps friends with one another Birth and death.
Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath, Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother, Faithful found above them and beneath.
Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith: Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other Birth and death.
BENEDICTION.
BLEST in death and life beyond man’s guessing Little children live and die, possest Still of grace that keeps them past expressing Blest.
Each least chirp that rings from every nest, Each least touch of flower-soft fingers pressing Aught that yearns and trembles to be prest,
Each least glance, gives gifts of grace, redressing Grief’s worst wrongs: each mother’s nurturing breast Feeds a flower of bliss, beyond all blessing Blest.
ÉTUDE RÉALISTE.
I.
A BABY’S feet, like sea-shells pink, Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel’s lips to kiss, we think, A baby’s feet.
Like rose-hued sea-flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet.
No flower-bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet As shine on life’s untrodden brink A baby’s feet.
II.
A baby’s hands, like rosebuds furled Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, A baby’s hands.
Then, fast as warriors grip their brands When battle’s bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands.
No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world— A baby’s hands.
III.
A baby’s eyes, ere speech begin, Ere lips learn words or sighs, Bless all things bright enough to win A baby’s eyes.
Love, while the sweet thing laughs and lies, And sleep flows out and in, Sees perfect in them Paradise.
Their glance might cast out pain and sin, Their speech make dumb the wise, By mute glad godhead felt within A baby’s eyes.
BABYHOOD.
I.
A BABY shines as bright If winter or if May be On eyes that keep in sight A baby.
Though dark the skies or grey be, It fills our eyes with light, If midnight or midday be.
Love hails it, day and night, The sweetest thing that may be Yet cannot praise aright A baby.
II.
All heaven, in every baby born, All absolute of earthly leaven, Reveals itself, though man may scorn All heaven.
Yet man might feel all sin forgiven, All grief appeased, all pain outworn, By this one revelation given.
Soul, now forget thy burdens borne: Heart, be thy joys now seven times seven: Love shows in light more bright than morn All heaven.
III.
What likeness may define, and stray not From truth’s exactest way, A baby’s beauty? Love can say not What likeness may.
The Mayflower loveliest held in May Of all that shine and stay not Laughs not in rosier disarray.
Sleek satin, swansdown, buds that play not As yet with winds that play, Would fain be matched with this, and may not: What likeness may?
IV.
Rose, round whose bed Dawn’s cloudlets close, Earth’s brightest-bred Rose!
No song, love knows, May praise the head Your curtain shows.
Ere sleep has fled, The whole child glows One sweet live red Rose.
FIRST FOOTSTEPS.
A LITTLE way, more soft and sweet Than fields aflower with May, A babe’s feet, venturing, scarce complete A little way.
Eyes full of dawning day Look up for mother’s eyes to meet, Too blithe for song to say.
Glad as the golden spring to greet Its first live leaflet’s play, Love, laughing, leads the little feet A little way.
A NINTH BIRTHDAY. FEBRUARY 4, 1883.
I.
THREE times thrice hath winter’s rough white wing Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice Since his birth whose praises love would sing Three times thrice.
Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price Fit to crown the forehead of my king, Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice.
Love can think of nought but love to bring Fit to serve or do him sacrifice Ere his eyes have looked upon the spring Three times thrice.
II.
Three times thrice the world has fallen on slumber, Shone and waned and withered in a trice, Frost has fettered Thames and Tyne and Humber Three times thrice,
Fogs have swoln too thick for steel to slice, Cloud and mud have soiled with grime and umber Earth and heaven, defaced as souls with vice,
Winds have risen to wreck, snows fallen to cumber, Ships and chariots, trapped like rats or mice, Since my king first smiled, whose years now number Three times thrice.
III.
Three times thrice, in wine of song full-flowing, Pledge, my heart, the child whose eyes suffice, Once beheld, to set thy joy-bells going Three times thrice.
Not the lands of palm and date and rice Glow more bright when summer leaves them glowing, Laugh more light when suns and winds entice.
Noon and eve and midnight and cock-crowing, Child whose love makes life as paradise, Love should sound your praise with clarions blowing Three times thrice.
NOT A CHILD.
I.
‘NOT a child: I call myself a boy,’ Says my king, with accent stern yet mild, Now nine years have brought him change of joy; ‘Not a child.’
How could reason be so far beguiled, Err so far from sense’s safe employ, Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy, Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled Back, as one too high for vain annoy— Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year! What should ail an undefiled Heart, that he would fain appear Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled Each on other, far and near, Fain again would so be styled:
Fain would cast off hope and fear, Rest, forget, be reconciled: Why would you so fain be, dear, Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will, Still your praise finds heart and song employ, Heart and song both yearning toward you still, Child or boy.
All joys else might sooner pall or cloy Love than this which inly takes its fill, Dear, of sight of your more perfect joy.
Nay, be aught you please, let all fulfil All your pleasure; be your world your toy: Mild or wild we love you, loud or still, Child or boy.
TO DORA DORIAN.
CHILD of two strong nations, heir Born of high-souled hope that smiled, Seeing for each brought forth a fair Child,
By thy gracious brows, and wild Golden-clouded heaven of hair, By thine eyes elate and mild,
Hope would fain take heart to swear Men should yet be reconciled, Seeing the sign she bids thee bear, Child.
THE ROUNDEL.
A ROUNDEL is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere, With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought, That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear A roundel is wrought.
Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught— Love, laughter, or mourning—remembrance of rapture or fear— That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.
As a bird’s quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught, So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear, A roundel is wrought.
AT SEA.
‘FAREWELL and adieu’ was the burden prevailing Long since in the chant of a home-faring crew; And the heart in us echoes, with laughing or wailing, Farewell and adieu.
Each year that we live shall we sing it anew, With a water untravelled before us for sailing And a water behind us that wrecks may bestrew.
The stars of the past and the beacons are paling, The heavens and the waters are hoarier of hue: But the heart in us chants not an all unavailing Farewell and adieu.
WASTED LOVE.
WHAT shall be done for sorrow With love whose race is run? Where help is none to borrow, What shall be done?
In vain his hands have spun The web, or drawn the furrow: No rest their toil hath won.
His task is all gone thorough, And fruit thereof is none: And who dare say to-morrow What shall be done?
BEFORE SUNSET.
LOVE’S twilight wanes in heaven above, On earth ere twilight reigns: Ere fear may feel the chill thereof, Love’s twilight wanes.
Ere yet the insatiate heart complains ‘Too much, and scarce enough,’ The lip so late athirst refrains.
Soft on the neck of either dove Love’s hands let slip the reins: And while we look for light of love Love’s twilight wanes.
A SINGING LESSON.
FAR-FETCHED and dear-bought, as the proverb rehearses, Is good, or was held so, for ladies: but nought In a song can be good if the turn of the verse is Far-fetched and dear-bought.
As the turn of a wave should it sound, and the thought Ring smooth, and as light as the spray that disperses Be the gleam of the words for the garb thereof wrought.
Let the soul in it shine through the sound as it pierces Men’s hearts with possession of music unsought; For the bounties of song are no jealous god’s mercies, Far-fetched and dear-bought.
FLOWER-PIECES.
I. LOVE LIES BLEEDING.
LOVE lies bleeding in the bed whereover Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading: Earth lies laughing where the sun’s dart clove her: Love lies bleeding.
Stately shine his purple plumes, exceeding Pride of princes: nor shall maid or lover Find on earth a fairer sign worth heeding.
Yet may love, sore wounded scarce recover Strength and spirit again, with life receding: Hope and joy, wind-winged, about him hover: Love lies bleeding.
II. LOVE IN A MIST.
Light love in a mist, by the midsummer moon misguided, Scarce seen in the twilight garden if gloom insist, Seems vainly to seek for a star whose gleam has derided Light love in a mist.
All day in the sun, when the breezes do all they list, His soft blue raiment of cloudlike blossom abided Unrent and unwithered of winds and of rays that kissed.
Blithe-hearted or sad, as the cloud or the sun subsided, Love smiled in the flower with a meaning whereof none wist Save two that beheld, as a gleam that before them glided, Light love in a mist.
THREE FACES.
I. VENTIMIGLIA.
THE sky and sea glared hard and bright and blank: Down the one steep street, with slow steps firm and free, A tall girl paced, with eyes too proud to thank The sky and sea.
One dead flat sapphire, void of wrath or glee, Through bay on bay shone blind from bank to bank The weary Mediterranean, drear to see.
More deep, more living, shone her eyes that drank The breathless light and shed again on me, Till pale before their splendour waned and shrank The sky and sea.
II. GENOA.
Again the same strange might of eyes, that saw In heaven and earth nought fairer, overcame My sight with rapture of reiterate awe, Again the same.
The self-same pulse of wonder shook like flame The spirit of sense within me: what strange law Had bid this be, for blessing or for blame?
To what veiled end that fate or chance foresaw Came forth this second sister face, that came Absolute, perfect, fair without a flaw, Again the same?
III. VENICE.
Out of the dark pure twilight, where the stream Flows glimmering, streaked by many a birdlike bark That skims the gloom whence towers and bridges gleam Out of the dark,
Once more a face no glance might choose but mark Shone pale and bright, with eyes whose deep slow beam Made quick the twilight, lifeless else and stark.
The same it seemed, or mystery made it seem, As those before beholden; but St. Mark Ruled here the ways that showed it like a dream Out of the dark.
EROS.
I.
EROS, from rest in isles far-famed, With rising Anthesterion rose, And all Hellenic heights acclaimed Eros.
The sea one pearl, the shore one rose, All round him all the flower-month flamed And lightened, laughing off repose.
Earth’s heart, sublime and unashamed, Knew, even perchance as man’s heart knows, The thirst of all men’s nature named Eros.
II.
Eros, a fire of heart untamed, A light of spirit in sense that glows, Flamed heavenward still ere earth defamed Eros.
Nor fear nor shame durst curb or close His golden godhead, marred and maimed, Fast round with bonds that burnt and froze.
Ere evil faith struck blind and lamed Love, pure as fire or flowers or snows, Earth hailed as blameless and unblamed Eros.
III.
Eros, with shafts by thousands aimed At laughing lovers round in rows, Fades from their sight whose tongues proclaimed Eros.
But higher than transient shapes or shows The light of love in life inflamed Springs, toward no goal that these disclose.
Above those heavens which passion claimed Shines, veiled by change that ebbs and flows, The soul in all things born or framed, Eros.
SORROW.
SORROW, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow.
One thought lies close in her heart gnawn thorough With pain, a weed in a dried-up river, A rust-red share in an empty furrow.
Hearts that strain at her chain would sever The link where yesterday frets to-morrow: All things pass in the world, but never Sorrow.
SLEEP.
SLEEP, when a soul that her own clouds cover Wails that sorrow should always keep Watch, nor see in the gloom above her Sleep,
Down, through darkness naked and steep, Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.
God beloved of us, all men’s lover, All most weary that smile or weep Feel thee afar or anear them hover, Sleep.
ON AN OLD ROUNDEL
_TRANSLATED BY D. C. ROSSETTI FROM THE FRENCH OF VILLON_.
I.
DEATH, from thy rigour a voice appealed, And men still hear what the sweet cry saith, Crying aloud in thine ears fast sealed, Death.
As a voice in a vision that vanisheth, Through the grave’s gate barred and the portal steeled The sound of the wail of it travelleth.
Wailing aloud from a heart unhealed, It woke response of melodious breath From lips now too by thy kiss congealed, Death.
II.
Ages ago, from the lips of a sad glad poet Whose soul was a wild dove lost in the whirling snow, The soft keen plaint of his pain took voice to show it Ages ago.
So clear, so deep, the divine drear accents flow, No soul that listens may choose but thrill to know it, Pierced and wrung by the passionate music’s throe.
For us there murmurs a nearer voice below it, Known once of ears that never again shall know, Now mute as the mouth which felt death’s wave o’erflow it Ages ago.
A LANDSCAPE BY COURBET.
LOW lies the mere beneath the moorside, still And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill Low lies the mere.
The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill, From sound or shadow felt or fancied here.
Strange, as we praise the dead man’s might and skill, Strange that harsh thoughts should make such heavy cheer, While, clothed with peace by heaven’s most gentle will, Low lies the mere.
A FLOWER-PIECE BY FANTIN.
HEART’S ease or pansy, pleasure or thought, Which would the picture give us of these? Surely the heart that conceived it sought Heart’s ease.
Surely by glad and divine degrees The heart impelling the hand that wrought Wrought comfort here for a soul’s disease.
Deep flowers, with lustre and darkness fraught, From glass that gleams as the chill still seas Lean and lend for a heart distraught Heart’s ease.
A NIGHT-PIECE BY MILLET.
WIND and sea and cloud and cloud-forsaking Mirth of moonlight where the storm leaves free Heaven awhile, for all the wrath of waking Wind and sea.
Bright with glad mad rapture, fierce with glee, Laughs the moon, borne on past cloud’s o’ertaking Fast, it seems, as wind or sail can flee.
One blown sail beneath her, hardly making Forth, wild-winged for harbourage yet to be, Strives and leaps and pants beneath the breaking Wind and sea.
‘MARZO PAZZO.’
MAD March, with the wind in his wings wide-spread, Leaps from heaven, and the deep dawn’s arch Hails re-risen again from the dead Mad March.
Soft small flames on rowan and larch Break forth as laughter on lips that said Nought till the pulse in them beat love’s march.
But the heartbeat now in the lips rose-red Speaks life to the world, and the winds that parch Bring April forth as a bride to wed Mad March.
DEAD LOVE.
DEAD love, by treason slain, lies stark, White as a dead stark-stricken dove: None that pass by him pause to mark Dead love.
His heart, that strained and yearned and strove As toward the sundawn strives the lark, Is cold as all the old joy thereof.
Dead men, re-risen from dust, may hark When rings the trumpet blown above: It will not raise from out the dark Dead love.
DISCORD.
UNRECONCILED by life’s fleet years, that fled With changeful clang of pinions wide and wild, Though two great spirits had lived, and hence had sped Unreconciled;
Though time and change, harsh time’s imperious child, That wed strange hands together, might not wed High hearts by hope’s misprision once beguiled;
Faith, by the light from either’s memory shed, Sees, radiant as their ends were undefiled, One goal for each—not twain among the dead Unreconciled.
CONCORD.
RECONCILED by death’s mild hand, that giving Peace gives wisdom, not more strong than mild, Love beholds them, each without misgiving Reconciled.
Each on earth alike of earth reviled, Hated, feared, derided, and forgiving, Each alike had heaven at heart, and smiled.
Both bright names, clothed round with man’s thanksgiving, Shine, twin stars above the storm-drifts piled, Dead and deathless, whom we saw not living Reconciled.
MOURNING.
ALAS my brother! the cry of the mourners of old That cried on each other, All crying aloud on the dead as the death-note rolled, Alas my brother!
As flashes of dawn that mists from an east wind smother With fold upon fold, The past years gleam that linked us one with another.
Time sunders hearts as of brethren whose eyes behold No more their mother: But a cry sounds yet from the shrine whose fires wax cold, Alas my brother!
APEROTOS EROS.
STRONG as death, and cruel as the grave, Clothed with cloud and tempest’s blackening breath, Known of death’s dread self, whom none outbrave, Strong as death,
Love, brow-bound with anguish for a wreath, Fierce with pain, a tyrant-hearted slave, Burns above a world that groans beneath.
Hath not pity power on thee to save, Love? hath power no pity? Nought he saith, Answering: blind he walks as wind or wave, Strong as death.
TO CATULLUS.
MY brother, my Valerius, dearest head Of all whose crowning bay-leaves crown their mother Rome, in the notes first heard of thine I read My brother.
No dust that death or time can strew may smother Love and the sense of kinship inly bred From loves and hates at one with one another.
To thee was Cæsar’s self nor dear nor dread, Song and the sea were sweeter each than other: How should I living fear to call thee dead My brother?
‘INSULARUM OCELLE.’
SARK, fairer than aught in the world that the lit skies cover, Laughs inly behind her cliffs, and the seafarers mark As a shrine where the sunlight serves, though the blown clouds hover, Sark.