The Blessed Damozel (fair copy manuscript) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Digital images courtesy of Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. The Blessed Damsel Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1855 September fair copy DGR Pierpont Morgan Library The MS came to the library with the collection of the Marchesa Peruzzi de Medici of Florence, in 1927. The Marchesa's family and the Brownings were good friends from 1848. The MS is a single sheet, 12 15/16 x 7 15/16in, copied fair, with the text written in two parallel columns. The text covers one side entirely; the reverse is blank. Commentary
Introduction

This is the only complete holograph MS of the poem. It was copied out by Rossetti and given to Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning in 1855 as a present. On Monday, 1 October 1855, DGR wrote to Elizabeth Barrett Browning: “I copied out that old production of mine, & now enclose it. It has gained some value in my eyes since Mr. Browning quoted two lines of it. It was written long ago, but has been very little altered since except by omission ” (Fredeman, <hi rend="i">Correspondance</hi> , vol.2, 69 ).

Textual History: Composition

As Peterson has shown, the Morgan MS has a number of erasures strongly suggesting that DGR was making this copy from a working manuscript for the 1856 <xref doc="a.ap4.o93.1.rad" workcode="1-1847.s244">Oxford and Cambridge Magazine</xref> text. The latter's first number appeared on 1 January 1856.

Textual History: Revision

The MS has no revisions as such, being a fair copy. But it has a number of important erasures that give insight into the copy text from which the Morgan MS was made. Furthermore, unique variants (see lines 9, 27, 61, 83, 110) as well as various other readings that correspond to the 1856 text (rather than the 1850), are certainly true revised readings. Peterson (415) also points out that in making this text DGR carefully turned all the “gold” references to a “silver” quality (see lines 2, 66, 142).

Production History

The MS was reproduced in facsimile and in a printed version as well in BaumBD.

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

Baum, <hi rend="i">“The Blessed Damozel”</hi> Peterson, “The Pierpont Morgan Manuscript of Rossetti's ‘The Blessed Damozel’” . Sanford. “The Morgan Library Manuscript of Rossetti's ‘The Blessed Damozel’” .

The Blessed Damsel. The blessed damsel leaned against The silver bar of Heaven. Her eyes knew more of rest and shade Than a deep water, even– She had three lilies in her hand And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white robe of Mary's gift For service meetly worn; And her hair lying down her back Was yellow like ripe corn. Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers; The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers; Albeit to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. (To one it is ten years of years. . . . . . Yet now, and in This place, Surely she leaned o'er me,—her hair Fell all about my face. Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves: The whole year sets apace.) It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God built over that sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence, She scarce could see The Sun. Heard hardly, some of her new friends, Playing at holy games, Spake gentle-mouthed among themselves Their virginal chaste names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself & stooped Into the vast waste calm, Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within that gulf to pierce The swarm; and then she spake, as when The stars sang in their spheres. “I wish that he were come to me, For he will come,” she said. “Have I not prayed in Heaven?— on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? “When round his head the aureole clings And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light, And we will step down as to a stream And bathe there in God's sight. “We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayers sent up to God; And see our own prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud. “We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be, While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His name audibly. “And I myself will teach to him— I myself, lying so,— The songs I sing here, which his voice Shall pause in, hushed & slow, And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know.” (Alas! just now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the midday air, Was she not stepping to my side Upon a silver stair?) “We two,” she said, “will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens whose names Are five sweet symphonies;— Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys: “They sit in circle, with bound locks And brows engarlanded; Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. “Herself shall bring us hand in hand To Him round whom all souls Kneel, the unnumbered ransomed heads Bowed with their aureoles; And Angels meeting us shall sing To their citherns and citoles. “There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me:— Only to live at s once on earth At peace, — only to be As then awhile, for ever now Together, I and he.” She gazed and listened, and then said, Less sad of speech than mild: “All this is when he comes.” She ceased: The light thrilled past her, filled With Angels in strong level lapse. Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. (I saw her smile.) But soon their flight Was vague in distant spheres. And then she laid her arms along The shining barriers, And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.) ——D. G. R. 1847