Poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1873): the Tauchnitz Edition (Princeton proof fragments) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Used with permission of Princeton University. From the Princeton University Library, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. All rights reserved. Redistribution or republication in any medium requires express written consent from Princeton University Library. Permissions inquiries should be addressed to Associate University Librarian, Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. Poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1873): the Tauchnitz Edition (Princeton proof fragments) Dante Gabriel Rossetti Bernhard Tauchnitz Leipzig 1873 November (early November) 259-260, 271-272, 267-268 Princeton University Library Troxell Collection Commentary
Introduction

This is a loose set of pages from the 1873 Tauchnitz edition that DGR used when he was making corrections for the 1881 <hi rend="i">Poems. A New Edition</hi> .

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

<hi rend="c">FOR</hi> <lb/> <title level="pic">“<hi rend="c">OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS</hi>” BY LEONARDO DA VINCI. Mother, is this the darkness of the end, The Shadow of Death? and is that outer sea Infinite imminent Eternity? And does the death-pang by man's seed sustain'd In Time's each instant cause thy face to bend Its silent prayer upon the Son, while he Blesses the dead with his hand silently To his long day which hours no more offend? Mother of grace, the pass is difficult, Keen as these rocks, and the bewildered souls Throng it like echoes, blindly shuddering through. Thy name, O Lord, each spirit's voice extols, Whose peace abides in the dark avenue Amid the bitterness of things occult. 17’ 122 Pencil note on right lower corner. <hi rend="c">FOR</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">A VENETIAN PASTORAL</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">BY GIORGIONE.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="i">(In the Louvre.)</hi> Water, for anguish of the solstice:—nay, But dip the vessel slowly,—nay, but lean And hark how at its verge the wave sighs in Reluctant. Hush! Beyond all depth away The heat lies silent at the brink of day: Now the hand trails upon the viol-string That sobs, and the brown faces cease to sing, Sad with the whole of pleasure. Whither stray Her eyes now, from whose mouth the slim pipes creep And leave it pouting, while the shadowed grass Is cool against her naked side? Let be:— Say nothing now unto her lest she weep, Nor name this ever. Be it as it was,— Life touching lips with Immortality. <hi rend="c">MARY MAGDALENE</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">AT THE DOOR OF SIMON THE PHARISEE</hi>.<lb/> <hi rend="i">(For a Drawing.*)</hi> “Why wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair? Nay, be thou all a rose,—wreath, lips, and cheek. Nay, not this house,—that banquet-house we seek; See how they kiss and enter; come thou there- This delicate day of love we two will share Till at our ear love's whispering night shall speak. What, sweet one,—hold'st thou still the foolish freak? Nay, when I kiss thy feet they'll leave the stair.” “Oh loose me! See'st thou not my Bridegroom's face That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss, My hair, my tears He craves to-day:—and oh! What words can tell what other day and place Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His? He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!”

* In the drawing Mary has left a festal procession of revellers, and is ascending by a sudden impulse the steps of the house where she sees Christ. Her lover hasfollowed her and is trying to turn her back.

 126 Pencil note on right lower corner. <hi rend="c">SAINT LUKE THE PAINTER.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="i">(For a Drawing.)</hi> Give honour unto Luke Evangelist; For he it was (the aged legends say) Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray. Scarcely at once she dared to rend the mist Of devious symbols: but soon having wist How sky-breadth and field-silence and this day Are symbols also in some deeper way, She looked through these to God and was God's priest. And if, past noon, her toil began to irk, And she sought talismans, and turned in vain To soulless self-reflections of man's skill,— Yet now, in this the twilight, she might still Kneel in the latter grass to pray again, Ere the night cometh and she may not work. <hi rend="c">VENUS<del>.</del> <add> <hi rend="c">VERTICORDIA.</hi> </add> </hi> <lb/> <hi rend="i">(For a Picture.)</hi> She hath the apple in her hand for thee, Yet almost in her heart would hold it back; She muses, with her eyes upon the track Of that which in thy spirit they can see. Haply, “Behold, he is at peace,” saith she; “Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,— The wandering of his feet perpetually!” A little space her glance is still and coy; But if she give the fruit that works her spell, Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy. Then shall her bird's strained throat the woe foretell, And her far seas moan as a single shell, And her grove glow with love-lit fires of Troy. Through her dark grove strike the light of Troy. <hi rend="c">CASSANDRA.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="i">(For a Drawing.*)</hi> <lb/> I. Rend, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go. Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cry From Troy still towered to the unreddened sky. See, all but she that bore thee mock thy woe:— He most whom that fair woman arms, with show Of wrath on her bent brows; for in this place This hour thou bad'st all men in Helen's face The ravished ravishing prize of Death to know. What eyes, what ears hath sweet Andromache, Save for her Hector's form and step; as tear On tear make salt the warm last kiss he gave? He goes. Cassandra's words beat heavily Like crows above his crest, and at his ear Ring hollow in the shield that shall not save.

*The subject shows Cassandra prophesying among her kindred, as Hector leaves them for his last battle. They are on the platform of a fortress, from which the Trojan troops are marching out. Helen is arming Paris; Priam soothes Hecuba; and Andromache holds the child to her bosom.