Poems. A New Edition (1881), proof Signature B (Delaware Museum, complete final proof) 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 20 (circa) proof 1-16 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 is a complete uncorrected final proof for signature B.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Three sets of proof materials survive for this signature. Besides this complete final proof, the Delaware Art Museum library has a partial first revise and a partial first author's proof.

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

<hi rend="c">POEMS.</hi> B blank page <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 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remembered 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 of 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; As unto a stream we will step down, 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">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 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!) ‘Three days and nights he has lain abed, Sister Helen, And he prays in torment to be dead.’ ‘The thing may chance, if he have prayed, Little brother!’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘But he has not ceased to cry to-day, Sister Helen, That you should take your curse away.’ ‘My prayer was heard,—he need but pray, Little brother!’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘But he says, till you take back your ban, Sister Helen, His soul would pass, yet never can.’ ‘Nay then, shall I slay a living man, Little brother?’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘But he calls for ever on your name, Sister Helen, And says that he melts before a flame.’ ‘My heart for his pleasure fared the same, Little brother.’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!) ‘Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white plume on the blast.’ ‘The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, Little brother!’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?) ‘He stops to speak, and he stills his horse, Sister Helen; But his words are drowned in the wind's course.’ ‘Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce, Little brother!’ (O Mother, Mary Mother, What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?)