Poems. A New Edition (1881), proof Signature B (Delaware Museum, partial set) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Text courtesy of The Delaware Art Museum Poems. A New Edition Dante Gabriel Rossetti F. S. Ellis Strangeways and Walden London 1881 May 15 (circa) proof 5-12 1 DGR Library, Delaware Art Museum 10 point; 6 point leading roman 22 2 cm 3.8 cm 2 cm 2.5 cm 19 x 12.8cm (crown octavo) Commentary
Introduction

This proof set is a fragment from what was probably the first author's revise proof of this signature. It would have followed directly from the proof represented by the fragmentary first author's proof also preserved in the library of the Delaware Art Museum.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Three sets of proof materials survive for this signature. Besides this partial first revise, the Delaware Art Museum library has a partial first author's proof of signature B (pages 1-2, 15-16) and a complete uncorrected final proof.

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

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">SISTER HELEN</hi>. ‘Why did you melt your waxen man, Sister Helen? To-day is the third since you began.’ ‘The time was long, yet the time ran, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘But if you have done your work aright, Sister Helen, You'll let me play, for you said I might.’ ‘Be very still in your play to-night, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘You said it must melt ere vesper-bell, Sister Helen; If now it be molten, all is well.’ ‘Even so,—nay, peace! you cannot tell, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen; How like dead folk he has dropped away!’ ‘Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘See, see, the sunken pile of wood, Sister Helen, Shines through the thinned wax red as blood!’ ‘Nay now, when looked you yet on blood, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore, Sister Helen, And I'll play without the gallery door.’ ‘Aye, let me rest,—I'll lie on the floor, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘Here high up in the balcony, Sister Helen, The moon flies face to face with me.’ ‘Aye, look and say whatever you see, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘Outside it's merry in the wind's wake, Sister Helen; In the shaken trees the still chill stars shake.’ ‘Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘I hear a horse-tread, and I see, Sister Helen, Three horsemen that ride terribly.’ ‘Little brother, whence come the three, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, Sister Helen, And one draws nigh, but two are afar.’ ‘Look, look, do you know them who they are, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white mane on the blast.’ ‘The hour has come, has come at last, Little brother!’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘He has made a sign and called Halloo! Sister Helen, And he says that he would speak with you.’ ‘Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘The wind is loud, but I hear him cry, Sister Helen, That Keith of Ewern's like to die.’ ‘And he and thou, and thou and I, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘Three days ago, on his marriage-morn, Sister Helen, He sickened, and lies since then forlorn.’ ‘For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn, Little brother. ?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)