Poems (1870): Sixth Edition Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Poems. Sixth Edition Dante Gabriel Rossetti F. S. Ellis Strangeways and Walden London 1872 6 [1]-[xii], [1]-282 1 DGR [A]6; B-S8; T6 library of Jerome J. McGann Original publisher's green cloth, gold stamped design blue floral 8 point; 5.5 point leading roman 24 2.7 cm 3.7 cm 2.6 cm 2 cm none crown octavo. 18.5cm Commentary
Introduction

The sixth edition (or sixth printing) was brought out in 1872. It was the final English edition and did not sell out until 1879. It carries a few corrections that do not appear in the earlier printings (see pages 3 and 82) and one difference (page 185) due to an error in printing.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

See the general bibliography for the 1870 <xref doc="a.1-1870.raw"> <hi rend="i">Poems</hi> </xref> .

<hi rend="c">POEMS</hi>.

blank page POEMS BY DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. SIXTH EDITION. LONDON: ELLIS & WHITE, 29 NEW BOND STREET, W. 1872. blank page

TO WILLIAM MICHAEL ROSSETTI, THESE POEMS, TO SO MANY OF WHICH, SO MANY YEARS BACK, HE GAVE THE FIRST BROTHERLY HEARING, ARE NOW AT LAST DEDICATED.

a 2 The “a” in this bibliographical signature is printed in cursive font, not in Roman font. blank page <hi rend="c">CONTENTS.</hi> The word “PAGE” is printed at the top of each column of numbers in the table of contents. ----*---- POEMS: THE BLESSED DAMOZEL . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 LOVE'S NOCTURN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 TROY TOWN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .16 THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH . . . . . . . . . . . .21 EDEN BOWER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .31 AVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .41 THE STAFF AND SCRIP . . . . . . . . . . . . .47 A LAST CONFESSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . .58 DANTE AT VERONA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .84 JENNY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 THE PORTRAIT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 SISTER HELEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 STRATTON WATER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 THE STREAM'S SECRET . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 THE CARD-DEALER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 MY SISTER'S SLEEP . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 A NEW YEAR'S BURDEN . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 EVEN SO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 AN OLD SONG ENDED . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 ASPECTA MEDUSA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176 THREE TRANSLATIONS FROM FRANCOIS VILLON: THE BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES . . . . . . 177 TO DEATH, OF HIS LADY . . . . . . . . 179 HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY . . . 180 JOHN OF TOURS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 MY FATHER'S CLOSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 ONE GIRL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186 ------ Sonnets and Songs, towards a work to be called ‘The House of Life.’ SONNETS: I. BRIDAL BIRTH . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 II. LOVE'S REDEMPTION . . . . . . . . . . 190 III. LOVESIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 IV. THE KISS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 V. NUPTIAL SLEEP . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 VI. SUPREME SURRENDER . . . . . . . . . . 194 VII. LOVE'S LOVERS . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 VIII. PASSION AND WORSHIP. . . . . . . . . . 196 IX. THE PORTRAIT . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197 X. THE LOVE-LETTER . . . . . . . . . . . 198 XI. THE BIRTH-BOND . . . . . . . . . . . . 199 XII. A DAY OF LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . 200 XIII. LOVE-SWEETNESS . . . . . . . . . . . . 201 XIV. LOVE'S BAUBLES . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 XV. WINGED HOURS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 XVI. LIFE-IN-LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204 XVII. THE LOVE-MOON . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 XVIII. THE MORROW'S MESSAGE . . . . . . . . . 206 XIX. SLEEPLESS DREAMS . . . . . . . . . . . 207 XX. SECRET PARTING . . . . . . . . . . . . 208 XXI. PARTED LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 XXII. BROKEN MUSIC . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210 XXIII. DEATH-IN-LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . 211 XXIV.-VII.WILLOW-WOOD . . . . . . . . . . . 212-15 XXVIII. STILLBORN LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 XXIX. INCLUSIVENESS . . . . . . . . . . . . 217 XXX. KNOWN IN VAIN . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 XXXI. THE LANDMARK . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 XXXII. A DARK DAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220 XXXIII. THE HILL SUMMIT . . . . . . . . . . . 221 XXXIV. BARREN SPRING . . . . . . . . . . . . 222 XXXV.-VII.THE CHOICE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223-5 XXXVIII. HOARDED JOY . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 XXXIX. VAIN VIRTUES . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 XL. LOST DAYS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228 XLI. DEATH'S SONGSTERS . . . . . . . . . . 229 XLII. ‘RETRO ME, SATHANA!’ . . . . . . . . . 230 XLIII. LOST ON BOTH SIDES . . . . . . . . . . 231 XLIV. THE SUN'S SHAME . . . . . . . . . . . 232 XLV. THE VASE OF LIFE . . . . . . . . . . . 233 XLVI. A SUPERSCRIPTION . . . . . . . . . . . 234 XLVII. HE AND I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 XLVIII.-IX. NEWBORN DEATH . . . . . . . . . . 236-7 L. THE ONE HOPE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 ------ I. LOVE-LILY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .239 II. FIRST LOVE REMEMBERED . . . . . . . . .241 III. PLIGHTED PROMISE . . . . . . . . . . .242 IV. SUDDEN LIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . .244 V. A LITTLE WHILE . . . . . . . . . . . .245 VI. THE SONG OF THE BOWER . . . . . . . . .247 VII. PENUMBRA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .249 VIII. THE WOODSPURGE . . . . . . . . . . . .251 IX. THE HONEYSUCKLE . . . . . . . . . . . .252 X. A YOUNG FIR-WOOD . . . . . . . . . . .253 XI. THE SEA-LIMITS . . . . . . . . . . . .254 ------ SONNETS FOR PICTURES, AND OTHER SONNETS: FOR ‘OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS,’ BY LEONARDO DA VINCI . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 FOR A VENETIAN PASTORAL, BY GIORGIONE . . . . . . . . . 260 FOR AN ALLEGORICAL DANCE OF WOMEN, BY ANDREA MANTEGNA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 FOR RUGGIERO AND ANGELICA, BY INGRES . . . . . . . . 262-3 FOR ‘THE WINE OF CIRCE,’ BY EDWARD BURNE JONES. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264 MARY'S GIRLHOOD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265 THE PASSOVER IN THE HOLY FAMILY . . . . . . . . . . . . 266 MARY MAGDALEN AT THE DOOR OF SIMON THE PHARISEE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 SAINT LUKE THE PAINTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268 LILITH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 SIBYLLA PALMIFERA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270 VENUS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271 CASSANDRA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272-3 PANDORA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274 ON REFUSAL OF AID BETWEEN NATIONS . . . . . . . . . . . 275 ON THE ‘VITA NUOVA’ OF DANTE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276 DANTIS TENEBRÆ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .277 BEAUTY AND THE BIRD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 278 A MATCH WITH THE MOON . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 AUTUMN IDLENESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 FAREWELL TO THE GLEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281 THE MONOCHORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282

[Many poems in this volume were written between1847 and 1853. Others are of recent date, and a few belongto the intervening period. It has been thought unnecessaryto specify the earlier work, as nothing is included which theauthor believes to be immature.]

 <hi rend="c">POEMS.</hi> ----- B <hi rend="c">THE BLESSED DAMOZEL</hi>. The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at 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 rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly worn; Her hair that lay along 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 the sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. It lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Around her, lovers, newly met In joy no sorrow claims, Spoke evermore among themselves Their rapturous new names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce Its path; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres. The sun was gone now; the curled moon Was like a little feather Fluttering far down the gulf; and now She spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together. (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side Down all the echoing stair?) ‘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 pray'd? 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; 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 prayer sent up to God; And see our old 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 and slow, And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know.’ (Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st! Yea, one wast thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?) ‘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. ‘Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded; Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread, To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. ‘He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. ‘Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered 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 as once on earth With Love,—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 towards her, fill'd With angels in strong level flight. Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd. (I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres: And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers, And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.) <hi rend="c">LOVE'S NOCTURN</hi>. Master of the murmuring courts Where the shapes of sleep convene!— Lo! my spirit here exhorts All the powers of thy demesne For their aid to woo my queen. What reports Yield thy jealous courts unseen? Vaporous, unaccountable, Dreamland lies forlorn of light, Hollow like a breathing shell. Ah! that from all dreams I might Choose one dream and guide its flight! I know well What her sleep should tell to-night. There the dreams are multitudes: Some whose buoyance waits not sleep, Deep within the August woods; Some that hum while rest may steep Weary labour laid a-heap; Interludes, Some, of grievous moods that weep. Poets' fancies all are there: There the elf-girls flood with wings Valleys full of plaintive air; There breathe perfumes; there in rings Whirl the foam-bewildered springs; Siren there Winds her dizzy hair and sings. Thence the one dream mutually Dreamed in bridal unison, Less than waking ecstasy; Half-formed visions that make moan In the house of birth alone; And what we At death's wicket see, unknown. But for mine own sleep, it lies In one gracious form's control, Fair with honorable eyes, Lamps of an auspicious soul: O their glance is loftiest dole, Sweet and wise, Wherein Love descries his goal. Reft of her, my dreams are all Clammy trance that fears the sky: Changing footpaths shift and fall; From polluted coverts nigh, Miserable phantoms sigh; Quakes the pall, And the funeral goes by. Master, is it soothly said That, as echoes of man's speech Far in secret clefts are made, So do all men's bodies reach Shadows o'er thy sunken beach,— Shape or shade In those halls pourtrayed of each? Ah! might I, by thy good grace Groping in the windy stair, (Darkness and the breath of space Like loud waters everywhere,) Meeting mine own image there Face to face, Send it from that place to her! Nay, not I; but oh! do thou, Master, from thy shadowkind Call my body's phantom now: Bid it bear its face declin'd Till its flight her slumbers find, And her brow Feel its presence bow like wind. Where in groves the gracile Spring Trembles, with mute orison Confidently strengthening, Water's voice and wind's as one Shed an echo in the sun. Soft as Spring, Master, bid it sing and moan. Song shall tell how glad and strong Is the night she soothes alway; Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue Of the brazen hours of day: Sounds as of the springtide they, Moan and song, While the chill months long for May. Not the prayers which with all leave The world's fluent woes prefer,— Not the praise the world doth give, Dulcet fulsome whisperer;— Let it yield my love to her, And achieve Strength that shall not grieve or err. Wheresoe'er my dreams befall, Both at night-watch, (let it say,) And where round the sundial The reluctant hours of day, Heartless, hopeless of their way, Rest and call;— There her glance doth fall and stay. Suddenly her face is there: So do mounting vapours wreathe Subtle-scented transports where The black firwood sets its teeth. Part the boughs and look beneath,— Lilies share Secret waters there, and breathe. Master, bid my shadow bend Whispering thus till birth of light, Lest new shapes that sleep may send Scatter all its work to flight;— Master, master of the night, Bid it spend Speech, song, prayer, and end aright. Yet, ah me! if at her head There another phantom lean Murmuring o'er the fragrant bed,— Ah! and if my spirit's queen Smile those alien words between,— Ah! poor shade! Shall it strive, or fade unseen? How should love's own messenger Strive with love and be love's foe? Master, nay! If thus, in her, Sleep a wedded heart should show,— Silent let mine image go, Its old share Of thy spell-bound air to know. Like a vapour wan and mute, Like a flame, so let it pass; One low sigh across her lute, One dull breath against her glass And to my sad soul, alas! One salute Cold as when death's foot shall pass. Then, too, let all hopes of mine, All vain hopes by night and day, Slowly at thy summoning sign Rise up pallid and obey. Dreams, if this is thus, were they:— Be they thine, And to dreamland pine away. Yet from old time, life, not death, Master, in thy rule is rife: Lo! through thee, with mingling breath, Adam woke beside his wife. O Love bring me so, for strife, Force and faith, Bring me so not death but life! Yea, to Love himself is pour'd This frail song of hope and fear. Thou art Love, of one accord With kind Sleep to bring her near, Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah how dear! Master, Lord, In her name implor'd, O hear! <hi rend="c">TROY TOWN</hi>. Heavenborn Helen, Sparta's queen, (O Troy Town!) Had two breasts of heavenly sheen, The sun and moon of the heart's desire: All Love's lordship lay between. (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Helen knelt at Venus' shrine, (O Troy Town!) Saying, ‘A little gift is mine, A little gift for a heart's desire. Hear me speak and make me a sign! (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) C ‘Look, I bring thee a carven cup; (O Troy Town!) See it here as I hold it up,— Shaped it is to the heart's desire, Fit to fill when the gods would sup. (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) ‘It was moulded like my breast; (O Troy Town!) He that sees it may not rest, Rest at all for his heart's desire. O give ear to my heart's behest! (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) ‘See my breast, how like it is; (O Troy Town!) See it bare for the air to kiss! Is the cup to thy heart's desire? O for the breast, O make it his! (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) ‘Yea, for my bosom here I sue; (O Troy Town!) Thou must give it where 'tis due, Give it there to the heart's desire. Whom do I give my bosom to? (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) ‘Each twin breast is an apple sweet. (O Troy Town!) Once an apple stirred the beat Of thy heart with the heart's desire:— Say, who brought it then to thy feet? (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) ‘They that claimed it then were three: (O Troy Town!) For thy sake two hearts did he Make forlorn of the heart's desire. Do for him as he did for thee! (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Mine are apples grown to the south, (O Troy Town!) Grown to taste in the days of drouth, Taste and waste to the heart's desire: Mine are apples meet for his mouth.’ (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Venus looked on Helen's gift, (O Troy Town!) Looked and smiled with subtle drift, Saw the work of her heart's desire:— ‘There thou kneel'st for Love to lift!’ (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Venus looked in Helen's face, (O Troy Town!) Knew far off an hour and place, And fire lit from the heart's desire; Laughed and said, ‘Thy gift hath grace!’ (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Cupid looked on Helen's breast, (O Troy Town!) Saw the heart within its nest, Saw the flame of the heart's desire,— Marked his arrow's burning crest. (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Cupid took another dart, (O Troy Town!) Fledged it for another heart, Winged the shaft with the heart's desire, Drew the string and said, ‘Depart!’ (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) Paris turned upon his bed, (O Troy Town!) Turned upon his bed and said, Dead at heart with the heart's desire,— ‘O to clasp her golden head!’ (O Troy's down, Tall Troy's on fire!) <hi rend="c">THE BURDEN OF NINEVEH</hi>. In our Museum galleries To-day I lingered o'er the prize Dead Greece vouchsafes to living eyes,— Her Art for ever in fresh wise From hour to hour rejoicing me. Sighing I turned at last to win Once more the London dirt and din; And as I made the swing-door spin And issued, they were hoisting in A wingèd beast from Nineveh. A human face the creature wore, And hoofs behind and hoofs before, And flanks with dark runes fretted o'er. 'Twas bull, 'twas mitred Minotaur, A dead disbowelled mystery; Note: The letter D and a comma in "preferr'd," (line 26) has been omitted by the printer. The mummy of a buried faith Stark from the charnel without scathe, Its wings stood for the light to bathe,— Such fossil cerements as might swathe The very corpse of Nineveh. The print of its first rush-wrapping, Wound ere it dried, still ribbed the thing. What song did the brown maidens sing, From purple mouths alternating, When that was woven languidly? What vows, what rites, what prayers preferr' What songs has the strange image heard? In what blind vigil stood interr'd For ages, till an English word Broke silence first at Nineveh? Oh when upon each sculptured court, Where even the wind might not resort,— O'er which Time passed, of like import With the wild Arab boys at sport,— A living face looked in to see:— Oh seemed it not—the spell once broke— As though the carven warriors woke, As though the shaft the string forsook, The cymbals clashed, the chariots shook, And there was life in Nineveh? On London stones our sun anew The beast's recovered shadow threw. (No shade that plague of darkness knew, No light, no shade, while older grew By ages the old earth and sea.) Lo thou! could all thy priests have shown Such proof to make thy godhead known? From their dead Past thou liv'st alone; And still thy shadow is thine own Even as of yore in Nineveh. That day whereof we keep record, When near thy city-gates the Lord Sheltered his Jonah with a gourd, This sun, (I said) here present, pour'd Even thus this shadow that I see. This shadow has been shed the same From sun and moon,—from lamps which came For prayer,—from fifteen days of flame, The last, while smouldered to a name Sardanapalus' Nineveh. Within thy shadow, haply, once Sennacherib has knelt, whose sons Smote him between the altar-stones: Or pale Semiramis her zones Of gold, her incense brought to thee, In love for grace, in war for aid: . . . . Ay, and who else? . . . . till 'neath thy shade Within his trenches newly made Last year the Christian knelt and pray'd— Not to thy strength—in Nineveh.*

* During the excavations, the Tiyari workmen held their ser-vices in the shadow of the great bulls. (Layard's ‘ Nineveh ,’ ch. ix.)

 Now, thou poor god, within this hall Where the blank windows blind the wall From pedestal to pedestal, The kind of light shall on thee fall Which London takes the day to be: While school-foundations in the act Of holiday, three files compact, Shall learn to view thee as a fact Connected with that zealous tract: ‘Rome,—Babylon and Nineveh.’ Deemed they of this, those worshippers, When, in some mythic chain of verse Which man shall not again rehearse, The faces of thy ministers Yearned pale with bitter ecstasy? Greece, Egypt, Rome,—did any god Before whose feet men knelt unshod Deem that in this unblest abode Another scarce more unknown god Should house with him, from Nineveh? Ah! in what quarries lay the stone From which this pillared pile has grown, Unto man's need how long unknown, Since those thy temples, court and cone, Rose far in desert history? Ah! what is here that does not lie All strange to thine awakened eye? Ah! what is here can testify (Save that dumb presence of the sky) Unto thy day and Nineveh? Why, of those mummies in the room Above, there might indeed have come One out of Egypt to thy home, An alien. Nay, but were not some Of these thine own ‘antiquity?’ And now,—they and their gods and thou All relics here together,—now Whose profit? whether bull or cow, Isis or Ibis, who or how, Whether of Thebes or Nineveh? The consecrated metals found, And ivory tablets, underground, Winged teraphim and creatures crown'd, When air and daylight filled the mound, Fell into dust immediately. And even as these, the images Of awe and worship,—even as these,— So, smitten with the sun's increase, Her glory mouldered and did cease From immemorial Nineveh. The day her builders made their halt, Those cities of the lake of salt Stood firmly 'stablished without fault, Made proud with pillars of basalt, With sardonyx and porphyry. The day that Jonah bore abroad To Nineveh the voice of God, A brackish lake lay in his road, Where erst Pride fixed her sure abode, As then in royal Nineveh. The day when he, Pride's lord and Man's, Showed all the kingdoms at a glance To Him before whose countenance The years recede, the years advance, And said, Fall down and worship me:— 'Mid all the pomp beneath that look, Then stirred there, haply, some rebuke, Where to the wind the Salt Pools shook, And in those tracts, of life forsook, That knew thee not, O Nineveh! Delicate harlot! On thy throne Thou with a world beneath thee prone In state for ages sat'st alone; And needs were years and lustres flown Ere strength of man could vanquish thee: Whom even thy victor foes must bring, Still royal, among maids that sing As with doves' voices, taboring Upon their breasts, unto the King,— A kingly conquest, Nineveh! . . . Here woke my thought. The wind's slow sway Had waxed; and like the human play Of scorn that smiling spreads away, The sunshine shivered off the day: The callous wind, it seemed to me, Swept up the shadow from the ground: And pale as whom the Fates astound, The god forlorn stood winged and crown'd: Within I knew the cry lay bound Of the dumb soul of Nineveh. And as I turned, my sense half shut Still saw the crowds of kerb and rut Go past as marshalled to the strut Of ranks in gypsum quaintly cut. It seemed in one same pageantry They followed forms which had been erst; To pass, till on my sight should burst That future of the best or worst When some may question which was first, Of London or of Nineveh. For as that Bull-god once did stand And watched the burial-clouds of sand, Till these at last without a hand Rose o'er his eyes, another land, And blinded him with destiny:— So may he stand again; till now, In ships of unknown sail and prow, Some tribe of the Australian plough Bear him afar,—a relic now Of London, not of Nineveh! Or it may chance indeed that when Man's age is hoary among men,— His centuries threescore and ten,— His furthest childhood shall seem then More clear than later times may be: Who, finding in this desert place This form, shall hold us for some race That walked not in Christ's lowly ways, But bowed its pride and vowed its praise Unto the God of Nineveh. The smile rose first,—anon drew nigh The thought: . . . Those heavy wings spread high So sure of flight, which do not fly; That set gaze never on the sky; Those scriptured flanks it cannot see; Its crown, a brow-contracting load; Its planted feet which trust the sod: . . . (So grew the image as I trod:) O Nineveh, was this thy God,— Thine also, mighty Nineveh? <hi rend="c">EDEN BOWER</hi>. It was Lilith the wife of Adam: (Eden bower's in flower.) Not a drop of her blood was human, But she was made like a soft sweet woman. Lilith stood on the skirts of Eden; (And O the bower and the hour!) She was the first that thence was driven; With her was hell and with Eve was heaven. In the ear of the Snake said Lilith:— (Eden bower's in flower.) ‘To thee I come when the rest is over; A snake was I when thou wast my lover. ‘I was the fairest snake in Eden: (And O the bower and the hour!) By the earth's will, new form and feature Made me a wife for the earth's new creature. ‘Take me thou as I come from Adam: (Eden bower's in flower.) Once again shall my love subdue thee; The past is past and I am come to thee. ‘O but Adam was thrall to Lilith! (And O the bower and the hour!) All the threads of my hair are golden, And there in a net his heart was holden. ‘O and Lilith was queen of Adam! (Eden bower's in flower.) All the day and the night together My breath could shake his soul like a feather. ‘What great joys had Adam and Lilith!— (And O the bower and the hour!) Sweet close rings of the serpent's twining, As heart in heart lay sighing and pining. ‘What bright babes had Lilith and Adam!— (Eden bower's in flower.) Shapes that coiled in the woods and waters, Glittering sons and radiant daughters. D ‘O thou God, the Lord God of Eden! (And O the bower and the hour!) Say, was this fair body for no man, That of Adam's flesh thou mak'st him a woman? ‘O thou Snake, the King-snake of Eden! (Eden bower's in flower.) God's strong will our necks are under, But thou and I may cleave it in sunder. ‘Help, sweet Snake, sweet lover of Lilith! (And O the bower and the hour!) And let God learn how I loved and hated Man in the image of God created. ‘Help me once against Eve and Adam! (Eden bower's in flower.) Help me once for this one endeavour, And then my love shall be thine for ever! ‘Strong is God, the fell foe of Lilith: (And O the bower and the hour!) Nought in heaven or earth may affright him; But join thou with me and we will smite him. ‘Strong is God, the great God of Eden: (Eden bower's in flower.) Over all He made He hath power; But lend me thou thy shape for an hour! ‘Lend thy shape for the love of Lilith! (And O the bower and the hour!) Look, my mouth and my cheek are ruddy, And thou art cold, and fire is my body. ‘Lend thy shape for the hate of Adam! (Eden bower's in flower.) That he may wail my joy that forsook him, And curse the day when the bride-sleep took him. ‘Lend thy shape for the shame of Eden! (And O the bower and the hour!) Is not the foe-God weak as the foeman When love grows hate in the heart of a woman? ‘Would'st thou know the heart's hope of Lilith? (Eden bower's in flower.) Then bring thou close thine head till it glisten Along my breast, and lip me and listen. ‘Am I sweet, O sweet Snake of Eden? (And O the bower and the hour!) Then ope thine ear to my warm mouth's cooing And learn what deed remains for our doing. ‘Thou didst hear when God said to Adam:— (Eden bower's in flower.) “Of all this wealth I have made thee warden; Thou'rt free to eat of the trees of the garden: ‘“Only of one tree eat not in Eden; (And O the bower and the hour!) All save one I give to thy freewill,— The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.” ‘O my love, come nearer to Lilith! (Eden bower's in flower.) In thy sweet folds bind me and bend me, And let me feel the shape thou shalt lend me! ‘In thy shape I'll go back to Eden; (And O the bower and the hour!) In these coils that Tree will I grapple, And stretch this crowned head forth by the apple. ‘Lo, Eve bends to the breath of Lilith! (Eden bower's in flower.) O how then shall my heart desire All her blood as food to its fire! ‘Lo, Eve bends to the words of Lilith!— (And O the bower and the hour!) “Nay, this Tree's fruit,—why should ye hate it, Or Death be born the day that ye ate it? ‘“Nay, but on that great day in Eden, (Eden bower's in flower.) By the help that in this wise Tree is, God knows well ye shall be as He is.” ‘Then Eve shall eat and give unto Adam; (And O the bower and the hour!) And then they both shall know they are naked, And their hearts ache as my heart hath achèd. ‘Aye, let them hide in the trees of Eden, (Eden bower's in flower.) As in the cool of the day in the garden God shall walk without pity or pardon. ‘Hear, thou Eve, the man's heart in Adam! (And O the bower and the hour!) Of his brave words hark to the bravest:— “This the woman gave that thou gavest.” ‘Hear Eve speak, yea, list to her, Lilith! (Eden bower's in flower.) Feast thine heart with words that shall sate it— “This the serpent gave and I ate it.” ‘O proud Eve, cling close to thine Adam, (And O the bower and the hour!) Driven forth as the beasts of his naming By the sword that for ever is flaming. ‘Know, thy path is known unto Lilith! (Eden bower's in flower.) While the blithe birds sang at thy wedding, There her tears grew thorns for thy treading. ‘O my love, thou Love-snake of Eden! (And O the bower and the hour!) O to-day and the day to come after! Loose me, love,—give breath to my laughter! Inadequate inking during printing process produced a damaged numeral 3 in the ennumeration of this page. ‘O bright Snake, the Death-worm of Adam! (Eden bower's in flower.) Wreathe thy neck with my hair's bright tether, And wear my gold and thy gold together! ‘On that day on the skirts of Eden, (And O the bower and the hour!) In thy shape shall I glide back to thee, And in my shape for an instant view thee. ‘But when thou'rt thou and Lilith is Lilith, (Eden bower's in flower.) In what bliss past hearing or seeing Shall each one drink of the other's being! ‘With cries of “Eve!” and “Eden!” and “Adam!” (And O the bower and the hour!) How shall we mingle our love's caresses, I in thy coils, and thou in my tresses! ‘With those names, ye echoes of Eden, (Eden bower's in flower.) Fire shall cry from my heart that burneth,— “Dust he is and to dust returneth!” ‘Yet to-day, thou master of Lilith,— (And O the bower and the hour!) Wrap me round in the form I'll borrow And let me tell thee of sweet to-morrow. ‘In the planted garden eastward in Eden, (Eden bower's in flower.) Where the river goes forth to water the garden, The springs shall dry and the soil shall harden. ‘Yea, where the bride-sleep fell upon Adam, (And O the bower and the hour!) None shall hear when the storm-wind whistles Through roses choked among thorns and thistles. ‘Yea, beside the east-gate of Eden, (Eden bower's in flower.) Where God joined them and none might sever, The sword turns this way and that for ever. ‘What of Adam cast out of Eden? (And O the bower and the hour!) Lo! with care like a shadow shaken, He tills the hard earth whence he was taken. ‘What of Eve too, cast out of Eden? (Eden bower's in flower.) Nay, but she, the bride of God's giving, Must yet be mother of all men living. ‘Lo, God's grace, by the grace of Lilith! (And O the bower and the hour!) To Eve's womb, from our sweet to-morrow, God shall greatly multiply sorrow. ‘Fold me fast, O God-snake of Eden! (Eden bower's in flower.) What more prize than love to impel thee? Grip and lip my limbs as I tell thee! ‘Lo! two babes for Eve and for Adam! (And O the bower and the hour!) Lo! sweet Snake, the travail and treasure,— Two men-children born for their pleasure! ‘The first is Cain and the second Abel: (Eden bower's in flower.) The soul of one shall be made thy brother, And thy tongue shall lap the blood of the other.’ (And O the bower and the hour!) <hi rend="c">AVE</hi>. Mother of the Fair Delight, Thou handmaid perfect in God's sight, Now sitting fourth beside the Three, Thyself a woman-Trinity,— Being a daughter borne to God, Mother of Christ from stall to rood, And wife unto the Holy Ghost:— Oh when our need is uttermost, Think that to such as death may strike Thou once wert sister sisterlike! Thou headstone of humanity, Groundstone of the great Mystery, Fashioned like us, yet more than we! Mind'st thou not (when June's heavy breath Warmed the long days in Nazareth,) That eve thou didst go forth to give Thy flowers some drink that they might live One faint night more amid the sands? Far off the trees were as pale wands Against the fervid sky: the sea Sighed further off eternally As human sorrow sighs in sleep. Then suddenly the awe grew deep, As of a day to which all days Were footsteps in God's secret ways: Until a folding sense, like prayer, Which is, as God is, everywhere, Gathered about thee; and a voice Spake to thee without any noise, Being of the silence:—‘Hail,’ it said, ‘Thou that art highly favourèd; The Lord is with thee here and now; Blessed among all women thou.’ Ah! knew'st thou of the end, when first That Babe was on thy bosom nurs'd?— Or when He tottered round thy knee Did thy great sorrow dawn on thee?— And through His boyhood, year by year Eating with Him the Passover, Didst thou discern confusedly That holier sacrament, when He, The bitter cup about to quaff, Should break the bread and eat thereof?— Or came not yet the knowledge, even Till on some day forecast in Heaven His feet passed through thy door to press Upon His Father's business?— Or still was God's high secret kept? Nay, but I think the whisper crept Like growth through childhood. Work and play, Things common to the course of day, Awed thee with meanings unfulfill'd; And all through girlhood, something still'd Thy senses like the birth of light, When thou hast trimmed thy lamp at night Or washed thy garments in the stream; To whose white bed had come the dream That He was thine and thou wast His Who feeds among the field-lilies. O solemn shadow of the end In that wise spirit long contain'd! O awful end! and those unsaid Long years when It was Finishèd! Mind'st thou not (when the twilight gone Left darkness in the house of John,) Between the naked window-bars That spacious vigil of the stars?— For thou, a watcher even as they, Wouldst rise from where throughout the day Thou wroughtest raiment for His poor; And, finding the fixed terms endure Of day and night which never brought Sounds of His coming chariot, Wouldst lift through cloud-waste unexplor'd Those eyes which said, ‘How long, O Lord?’ Then that disciple whom He loved, Well heeding, haply would be moved To ask thy blessing in His name; And that one thought in both, the same Though silent, then would clasp ye round To weep together,—tears long bound, Sick tears of patience, dumb and slow. Yet, ‘Surely I come quickly,’—so He said, from life and death gone home. Amen: even so, Lord Jesus, come! But oh! what human tongue can speak That day when death was sent to break From the tir'd spirit, like a veil, Its covenant with Gabriel Endured at length unto the end? What human thought can apprehend That mystery of motherhood When thy Beloved at length renew'd The sweet communion severèd,— His left hand underneath thine head And His right hand embracing thee?— Lo! He was thine, and this is He! Soul, is it Faith, or Love, or Hope, That lets me see her standing up Where the light of the Throne is bright? Unto the left, unto the right, The cherubim, arrayed, conjoint, Float inward to a golden point, And from between the seraphim The glory issues for a hymn. O Mary Mother, be not loth To listen,—thou whom the stars clothe, Who seëst and mayst not be seen! Hear us at last, O Mary Queen! Into our shadow bend thy face, Bowing thee from the secret place, O Mary Virgin, full of grace! <hi rend="c">THE STAFF AND SCRIP</hi>. ‘Who owns these lands?’ the Pilgrim said. ‘Stranger, Queen Blanchelys.’ ‘And who has thus harried them?’ he said. ‘It was Duke Luke did this: God's ban be his!’ The Pilgrim said: ‘Where is your house? I'll rest there, with your will.’ ‘You've but to climb these blackened boughs And you'll see it over the hill, For it burns still.’ ‘Which road, to seek your Queen?’ said he. ‘Nay, nay, but with some wound You'll fly back hither, it may be, And by your blood i'the ground My place be found.’ ‘Friend, stay in peace. God keep your head, And mine, where I will go; For He is here and there,’ he said. He passed the hill-side, slow, And stood below. The Queen sat idle by her loom: She heard the arras stir, And looked up sadly: through the room The sweetness sickened her Of musk and myrrh. Her women, standing two and two, In silence combed the fleece. The pilgrim said, ‘Peace be with you, Lady;’ and bent his knees. She answered, ‘Peace.’ Her eyes were like the wave within; Like water-reeds the poise Of her soft body, dainty thin; And like the water's noise Her plaintive voice. E For him, the stream had never well'd In desert tracts malign So sweet; nor had he ever felt So faint in the sunshine Of Palestine. Right so, he knew that he saw weep Each night through every dream The Queen's own face, confused in sleep With visages supreme Not known to him. ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘your lands lie burnt And waste: to meet your foe All fear: this I have seen and learnt. Say that it shall be so, And I will go.’ She gazed at him. ‘Your cause is just, For I have heard the same:’ He said: ‘God's strength shall be my trust. Fall it to good or grame, 'Tis in His name.’ ‘Sir, you are thanked. My cause is dead. Why should you toil to break A grave, and fall therein?’ she said. He did not pause but spake: ‘For my vow's sake.’ ‘Can such vows be, Sir—to God's ear, Not to God's will?’ ‘My vow Remains: God heard me there as here,’ He said with reverent brow, ‘Both then and now.’ They gazed together, he and she, The minute while he spoke; And when he ceased, she suddenly Looked round upon her folk As though she woke. ‘Fight, Sir,’ she said: ‘my prayers in pain Shall be your fellowship.’ He whispered one among her train,— ‘To-morrow bid her keep This staff and scrip.’ She sent him a sharp sword, whose belt About his body there As sweet as her own arms he felt. He kissed its blade, all bare, Instead of her. She sent him a green banner wrought With one white lily stem, To bind his lance with when he fought. He writ upon the same And kissed her name. She sent him a white shield, whereon She bade that he should trace His will. He blent fair hues that shone, And in a golden space He kissed her face. Born of the day that died, that eve Now dying sank to rest; As he, in likewise taking leave, Once with a heaving breast Looked to the west. And there the sunset skies unseal'd, Like lands he never knew, Beyond to-morrow's battle-field Lay open out of view To ride into. Next day till dark the women pray'd: Nor any might know there How the fight went: the Queen has bade That there do come to her No messenger. Lo, Father, is thine ear inclin'd, And hath thine angel pass'd? For these thy watchers now are blind With vigil, and at last Dizzy with fast. Weak now to them the voice o' the priest As any trance affords;