Ballads and Sonnets (1881), proof Signature M (Delaware Museum, first author's proof, copy 2, revise) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 Text courtesy of The Delaware Art Museum Ballads and Sonnets Dante Gabriel Rossetti F. S. Ellis Chiswick Press, C. Whittingham and Co. London 1881 April 28 proof [161]-176 2 DGR M8 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 copy (dated 28 April 1881) of the revise of the first author's proof of Signature M of the Ballads and Sonnets volume. The proof carries DGR's corrections from the first proof.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

In addition to this complete revise of the author's proof, the library of the Delaware Museum of Art has as well a first author's proof with DGR's corrections. The British Library proofs have another copy of revise proofs for this signature (dated 28 April).

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

M 2 Printer's proof number added in upper left. House of LifeComplete Printer's notation. [Charles Whittingham's printer date stamp, 28 Apr.81] A Sonnet is a moment's monument,— Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, Of its own arduous fulness reverent: Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals The soul,—its converse, to what Power 'tis due:— Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue, It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath, In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death. blank page <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">PART I. YOUTH AND CHANGE.</hi> </hi> <hi rend="c">SONNET I</hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">LOVE ENTHRONED</hi> </hi>. I marked all kindred Powers the heart finds fair:— Truth, with awed lips; and Hope, with eyes up- cast; And Fame, whose loud wings fan the ashen Past To signal-fires, Oblivion's flight to scare; And Youth, with still some single golden hair Unto his shoulder clinging, since the last Embrace wherein two sweet arms held him fast; And Life, still wreathing flowers for Death to wear. Love's throne was not with these; but far above All passionate wind of welcome and farewell He sat in breathless bowers they dream not of; Though Truth foreknow Love's heart, and Hope foretell, And Fame be for Love's sake desirable, And Youth be dear, and Life be sweet to Love. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET II</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">BRIDAL BIRTH</hi> </hi>. As when desire, long darkling, dawns, and first The mother looks upon the newborn child, Even so my Lady stood at gaze and smiled When her soul knew at length the Love it nurs'd. Born with her life, creature of poignant thirst And exquisite hunger, at her heart Love lay Quickening in darkness, till a voice that day Cried on him, and the bonds of birth were burst. Now, shadowed by his wings, our faces yearn Together, as his fullgrown feet now range The grove, and his warm hands our couch prepare: Till to his song our bodiless souls in turn Be born his children, when Death's nuptial change Leaves us for light the halo of his hair. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET III</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">LOVE'S TESTAMENT</hi> </hi>. O thou who at Love's hour ecstatically Unto my heart dost evermore present, Clothed with his fire, thy heart his testament; Whom I have neared and felt thy breath to be The inmost incense of his sanctuary; Who without speech hast owned him, and, intent Upon his will, thy life with mine hast blent, And murmured, “I am thine, thou'rt one with me!” O what from thee the grace, to me the prize, And what to Love the glory,—when the whole Of the deep stair thou tread'st to the dim shoal And weary water of the place of sighs, And there dost work deliverance, as thine eyes Draw up my prisoned spirit to thy soul! <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET IV</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">LOVESIGHT</hi> </hi>. When do I see thee most, beloved one? When in the light the spirits of mine eyes Before thy face, their altar, solemnize The worship of that Love through thee made known? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies, And my soul only sees thy soul its own? O love, my love! if I no more should see Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee, Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,— How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope, The wind of Death's imperishable wing? <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET V</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">HEART'S HOPE</hi> </hi>. By what word's power, the key of paths untrod, Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore, Till parted waves of Song yield up the shore Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod? For lo! in some poor rhythmic period, Lady, I fain would tell how evermore Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor Thee from myself, neither our love from God. Yea, in God's name, and Love's, and thine, would I Draw from one loving heart such evidence As to all hearts all things shall signify; Tender as dawn's first hill-fire, and intense As instantaneous penetrating sense, In Spring's birth-hour, of other Springs gone by. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET VI</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">THE KISS</hi> </hi>. What smouldering senses in death's sick delay Or seizure of malign vicissitude Can rob this body of honour, or denude This soul of wedding-raiment worn to-day? For lo! even now my lady's lips did play With these my lips such consonant interlude As laurelled Orpheus longed for when he wooed The half-drawn hungering face with that last lay. I was a child beneath her touch,—a man When breast to breast we clung, even I and she,— A spirit when her spirit looked through me,— A god when all our life-breath met to fan Our life-blood, till love's emulous ardours ran, Fire within fire, desire in deity. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET VII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SUPREME SURRENDER</hi> </hi>. To all the spirits of Love that wander by Along his love-sown harvest-field of sleep My lady lies apparent; and the deep Calls to the deep; and no man sees but I. The bliss so long afar, at length so nigh, Rests there attained. Methinks proud Love must weep When Fate's control doth from his harvest reap The sacred hour for which the years did sigh. First touched, the hand now warm around my neck Taught memory long to mock desire: and lo! Across my breast the abandoned hair doth flow, Where one shorn tress long stirred the longing ache: And next the heart that trembled for its sake Lies the queen-heart in sovereign overthrow. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET VIII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LOVE'S LOVERS</hi> </hi>. Some ladies love the jewels in Love's zone And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play In idle scornful hours he flings away; And some that listen to his lute's soft tone Do love to vaunt the silver praise their own; Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they Who kissed his wings which brought him yester- day And thank his wings to-day that he is flown. My lady only loves the heart of Love: Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for thee His bower of unimagined flower and tree: There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above, Seals with thy mouth his immortality. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET IX</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">PASSION AND WORSHIP</hi> </hi>. One flame-winged brought a white-winged harp— player Even where my lady and I lay all alone; Saying: “Behold, this minstrel is unknown; Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here: Only my strains are to Love's dear ones dear.” Then said I: “Through thine hautboy's rap- turous tone Unto my lady still this harp makes moan, And still she deems the cadence deep and clear.” Then said my lady: “Thou art Passion of Love, And this Love's Worship: both he plights to me. Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea: But where wan water trembles in the grove And the wan moon is all the light thereof, This harp still makes my name its voluntary.” <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET X</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">THE PORTRAIT</hi> </hi>. O Lord of all compassionate control, O Love! let this my lady's picture glow Under my hand to praise her name, and show Even of her inner self the perfect whole: That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal, Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know The very sky and sea-line of her soul. Lo! it is done. Above the enthroning throat The mouth's mould testifies of voice and kiss, The shadowed eyes remember and foresee. Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!) They that would look on her must come to me. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET XI</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">THE LOVE-LETTER</hi> </hi>. Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee, Whereof the articulate throbs accompany The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair,— Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,— Oh let thy silent song disclose to me That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree Like married music in Love's answering air. Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought, Her bosom to the writing closelier press'd, And her breast's secrets peered into her breast; When, through eyes raised an instant, her soul sought My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught The words that made her love the loveliest. <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET XII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">THE LOVERS' WALK</hi> </hi>. Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise On this June day; and hand that clings in hand:— Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann'd:— An osier-odoured stream that draws the skies Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes:— Fresh hourly wonder o'er the Summer land Of light and cloud; and two souls softly spann'd With one o'erarching heaven of smiles and sighs:— Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto Each other's visible sweetness amorously,— Whose passionate hearts lean by Love's high decree Together on his heart for ever true, As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue Rest on the blue line of a foamless sea. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XIII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">YOUTH'S ANTIPHONY</hi> </hi>. “I love you, sweet: how can you ever learn How much I love you?” “You I love even so, And so I learn it.” “Sweet, you cannot know How fair you are.” “If fair enough to earn Your love, so much is all my love's concern.” “My love grows hourly, sweet.” “Mine too doth grow, Yet love seemed full so many hours ago!” Thus lovers speak, till kisses claim their turn. Ah! happy they to whom such words as these In youth have served for speech the whole day long, Hour after hour, remote from the world's throng, Work, contest, fame, all life's confederate pleas,— What while Love breathed in sighs and silences Through two blent souls one rapturous undersong. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XIV</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">YOUTH'S SPRING-TRIBUTE</hi> </hi>. On this sweet bank your head thrice sweet and dear I lay, and spread your hair on either side, And see the newborn woodflowers bashful-eyed Look through the golden tresses here and there. On these debateable borders of the year Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow; And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear. But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day; So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss Creep, as the Spring now thrills through every spray, Up your warm throat to your warm lips: for this Is even the hour of Love's sworn suitservice, With whom cold hearts are counted castaway.