Ballads and Sonnets (1881), proof Signature N (Delaware Museum, second revise, copy 2) 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 May 3 proof 177-192 3 DGR N8 Library, Delaware Art Museum 10 point; 6 point leading roman 17 2 cm 3.8 cm 2 cm 2.5 cm 19 x 12.8cm (crown octavo) Commentary
Introduction

This is a duplicate copy (dated 3 May 1881) of the second revise of Signature N of the Ballads and Sonnets volume. Like the other copy of this revise, this copy has no corrections. Not all of DGR's corrections in the first revise were carried over into this proof.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Besides this duplicate copy of the second revise, the Delaware proofs include the following: copy 1 and copy 2 of the first proof with only eight sonnets printed; copy 1 and copy 2 of the first revise (dated 28 April 1881 and numbered 1a and 1b respectively), both with DGR's corrections throughout; the other copy of the second revise (dated 3 May 1881 and numbered 2a); a corrected and two uncorrected copies of the third revise (uncorrected copy 1 and uncorrected copy 2), all dated 4 May 1881 and numbered 3c, 3a, and 3b respectively; an uncorrected and two corrected copies of the fourth revise (corrected copy 1 and corrected copy 2), all dated 6 May 1881 and numbered 4a, 4b, and 4c respectively; four copies of the final proof, including WMR's copy with his notes, DGR's corrected copy, an uncorrected partial copy, and a copy with uncut sheets), all undated and numbered 5a, 5b, 5c, and 5d. Delaware also has the proof of the cancel leaf (pages 185-186), marked as such and with with DGR's correction. The British Library proofs have another copy of revise proofs for this signature (dated 3 May).

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

N 2b Printer's proof number added in upper left. [Charles Whittingham's printer date stamp, 3 May 81] <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">SONNET XV</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">THE BIRTH-BOND</hi> </hi>. Have you not noted, in some family Where two were born of a first marriage-bed, How still they own their gracious bond, though fed And nursed on the forgotten breast and knee?— How to their father's children they shall be In act and thought of one goodwill; but each Shall for the other have, in silence speech, And in a word complete community? Even so, when first I saw you, seemed it, love, That among souls allied to mine was yet One nearer kindred than life hinted of. O born with me somewhere that men forget, And though in years of sight and sound unmet, Known for my soul's birth-partner well enough! <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XVI</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">A DAY OF LOVE</hi> </hi>. Those envied places which do know her well, And are so scornful of this lonely place, Even now for once are emptied of her grace: Nowhere but here she is: and while Love's spell From his predominant presence doth compel All alien hours, an outworn populace, The hours of Love fill full the echoing space With sweet confederate music favourable. Now many memories make solicitous The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit With quivering fire, the words take wing from it; As here between our kisses we sit thus Speaking of things remembered, and so sit Speechless while things forgotten call to us. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XVII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LOVE'S PAGEANT</hi> </hi>. What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last Incarnate flower of culminating day,— What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May, Or song full-quired, sweet June's encomiast; What glory of change by nature's hand amass'd Can vie with all those moods of varying grace Which o'er one loveliest woman's form and face Within this hour, within this room, have pass'd? Love's very vesture and elect disguise Was each fine movement,—wonder new-begot Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot; Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs, Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyes Unborn, that read these words and saw her not. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XVIII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">GENIUS IN BEAUTY</hi> </hi>. Beauty like hers is genius. Not the call Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime,— Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time,— Is more with compassed mysteries musical; Nay, not in Spring's or Summer's sweet footfall More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeathes Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes Even from its shadowed contour on the wall. As many men are poets in their youth, But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong Even through all change the indomitable song; So in likewise the envenomed years, whose tooth Rends shallower grace with ruin void of ruth, Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XIX</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SILENT NOON</hi> </hi>. Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,— The finger-points look through like rosy blooms: Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge. 'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass. Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky:— So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above, Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower, This close-companioned inarticulate hour When twofold silence was the song of love. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XX</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">GRACIOUS MOONLIGHT</hi> </hi>. Even as the Moon grows queenlier in mid-space When the sky darkens, and her cloud-rapt car Thrills with intenser radiance from afar,— So lambent, lady, beams thy sovereign grace When the drear soul desires thee. Of that face What shall be said,—which, like a governing star, Gathers and garners from all things that are Their silent penetrative loveliness? O'er water-daisies and wild waifs of Spring, There where the iris rears its gold-crowned sheaf With flowering rush and sceptred arrow-leaf, So have I marked Queen Dian, in bright ring Of cloud above and wave below, take wing And chase night's gloom, as thou the spirit's grief. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXI</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">THE DARK GLASS</hi> </hi>. Not I myself know all my love for thee: How should I reach so far, who cannot weigh To-morrow's dower by gage of yesterday? Shall birth and death, and all dark names that be As doors and windows bared to some loud sea, Lash deaf mine ears and blind my face with spray; And shall my sense pierce love,—the last relay And ultimate outpost of eternity? Lo! what am I to Love, the Lord of all? One murmuring shell he gathers from the sand,— One little heart-flame sheltered in his hand. Yet through thine eyes he grants me clearest call And veriest touch of powers primordial That any hour-girt life may understand. DGR adds an alternate title in pencil to the left of the printed title <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LOVE-SWEETNESS</hi> </hi> Sweet dimness of her loosened hair's downfall About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head In gracious fostering union garlanded; Her tremulous smiles; her glances' sweet recall Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial; Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses shed On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all:— What sweeter than these things, except the thing In lacking which all these would lose their sweet:— The confident heart's still fervour: the swift beat And soft subsidence of the spirit's wing, Then when it feels, in cloud-girt wayfaring, The breath of kindred plumes against its feet? <hi rend="c">SONNET XXIII</hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c">LOVE'S BAUBLES</hi>. I stood where Love in brimming armfuls bore Slight wanton flowers and foolish toys of fruit: And round him ladies thronged in warm pursuit, Fingered and lipped and proffered the strange store. And from one hand the petal and the core Savoured of sleep; and cluster and curled shoot Seemed from another hand like shame's salute,— Gifts that I felt my cheek was blushing for. At last Love bade my Lady give the same: And as I looked, the dew was light thereon; And as I took them, at her touch they shone With inmost heaven-hue of the heart of flame. And then Love said: “Lo! when the hand is hers, Follies of love are love's true ministers.” <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXIV</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">PRIDE OF YOUTH</hi> </hi>. Even as a child, of sorrow that we give The dead, but little in his heart can find, Since without need of thought to his clear mind Their turn it is to die and his to live:— Even so the winged New Love smiles to receive Along his eddying wings the auroral wind, Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behind Where night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive. There is a change in every hour's recall, And the last cowslip in the fields we see On the same day with the first corn-poppy. Alas for hourly change! Alas for all The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall, Even as the beads of a told rosary! <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXV</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">WINGED HOURS</hi> </hi>. Each hour until we meet is as a bird That wings from far his gradual way along The rustling covert of my soul,—his song Still loudlier trilled through leaves more deeply stirr'd: But at the hour of meeting, a clear word Is every note he sings, in Love's own tongue; Yet, Love, thou know'st the sweet strain suffers wrong, Full oft through our contending joys unheard. What of that hour at last, when for her sake No wing may fly to me nor song may flow; When, wandering round my life unleaved, I know The bloodied feathers scattered in the brake, And think how she, far from me, with like eyes Sees through the untuneful bough the wingless skies? <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXVI</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">MID-RAPTURE</hi> </hi>. Thou lovely and beloved, thou my love; Whose kiss seems still the first; whose summon- ing eyes, Even now, as for our love-world's new sunrise, Shed very dawn; whose voice, attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove, Is like a hand laid softly on the soul; Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of:— What word can answer to thy word,—what gaze To thine, which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face, till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp, what kiss mine inmost heart can prove, O lovely and beloved, O my love? <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXVII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LOVE'S COMPASS</hi> </hi>. Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are; A breathless wonder, shadowing forth afar Some heavenly solstice hushed and halcyon; Whose unstirred lips are music's visible tone; Whose eyes the sun-gate of the soul unbar, Being of its furthest fires oracular;— The evident heart of all life sown and mown. Even such Love is; and is not thy name Love? Yea, by thy hand the Love-god rends apart All gathering clouds of Night's ambiguous art; Flings them far down, and sets thine eyes above; And simply, as some gage of flower or glove, Stakes with a smile the world against thy heart. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXVIII</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LOVELIGHT</hi> </hi>. What other woman could be loved like you, Or how of you should love possess his fill? After the fulness of all rapture, still,— As at the end of some deep avenue A tender glamour of day,—there comes to view Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill,— Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil Even from his inmost ark of light and dew. And as the traveller triumphs with the sun, Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs From limpid lambent hours of day begun;— Even so, within your arms, your soul doth move My soul with changeful light of infinite love. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXIX</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="center"> <hi rend="c">LOVE MEASURE</hi> </hi>. Not by one measure mayst thou mete our love; For how should I be loved as I love thee?— I, graceless, joyless, lacking absolutely All gifts that with thy queenship best behove;— Thou, throned in every heart's elect alcove, And crowned with garlands culled from every tree, Which for no head but thine, by Love's decree, All beauties and all mysteries interwove. But here thine eyes and lips yield soft rebuke:— “Then only,” (sayest thou) “could I love thee less, When thou couldst doubt my love's equality.” Peace, sweet! If not to sum but worth we look,— Thy heart's transcendence, not my heart's excess,— Then more a thousandfold thou lov'st than I. <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">SONNET XXX</hi> </hi>.<lb/> <lb/> <hi rend="c"> <hi rend="center">LAST FIRE</hi> </hi>. Love, through your spirit and mine what summer eve Now glows with glory of all things possess'd, Since this day's sun of rapture filled the west And the light sweetened as the fire took leave? Awhile now softlier let your bosom heave, As in Love's harbour, even that loving breast, All care takes refuge while we sink to rest, And mutual dreams the bygone bliss retrieve. Many the days that Winter keeps in store, Sunless throughout, or whose brief sun-glimpses Scarce shed the heaped snow through the naked trees. This day at least was Summer's paramour, Sun-coloured to the imperishable core With sweet well-being of love and full heart's ease.