Ballads and Sonnets (1881), proof Signature Y (Delaware Museum, second revise, partial copy) 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 18 (circa) proof 321-336 3 DGR 321, 329-332 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 an incomplete set of the second revise proof for Signature Y. Printer's marks on pages 330 and 332 cancel two sonnets that DGR was moving to other pages.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Besides this copy of the second revise proof, the Delaware proofs for Signature Y include the following: a complete copy of the first author's proof, with many corrections; an author's first revise with various corrections; and two sets of the third revise, WMR's complete set with his comments, and DGR's complete set. The British Library proofs have another complete copy of the first revise proof for this signature (dated 10 May).

Printing History

Reception History

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

Y <title> <hi rend="c">WORDS ON THE WINDOW-PANE.</hi> <hi rend="sup">1</hi> DID she in summer write it, or in spring, Or with this wail of autumn at her ears, Or in some winter left among old years Scratched it through tettered cark? A certain thing That round her heart the frost was hardening, Not to be thawed of tears, which on this pane Channelled the rime, perchance, in fevered rain, For false man's sake and love's most bitter sting. Howbeit, between this last word and the next Unwritten, subtly seasoned was the smart, And here at least the grace to weep: if she, Rather, midway in her disconsolate text, Rebelled not, loathing from the trodden heart That thing which she had found man's love to be.

1 For a woman's fragmentary inscription.

 <hi rend="c">“FOUND.”</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">(FOR A PICTURE.)</hi> “THERE is a budding morrow in midnight:”— So sang our Keats, our English nightingale. And here, as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London's smokeless resurrection-light, Dark breaks to dawn. But o'er the deadly blight Of love deflowered and sorrow of none avail Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail, Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge, Under one mantle sheltered 'neath the hedge In gloaming courtship? And O God! to-day He only knows he holds her;—but what part Can life now take? She cries in her locked heart,— “Leave me—I do not know you—go away!” <hi rend="c">A SEA-SPELL.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">(FOR A PICTURE.)</hi> HER lute hangs shadowed in the apple-tree, While flashing fingers weave the sweet-strung spell Between its chords; and as the wild notes swell, The sea-bird for those branches leaves the sea. But to what sound her listening ear stoops she? What netherworld gulf-whispers doth she hear, In answering echoes from what planisphere, Along the wind, along the estuary? She sinks into her spell: and when full soon Her lips move and she soars into her song, What creatures of the midmost main shall throng In furrowed surf-clouds to the summoning rune: Till he, the fated mariner, hears her cry, And up her rock, bare-breasted, comes to die? <hi rend="c">FIAMMETTA.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">(FOR A PICTURE.)</hi> BEHOLD Fiammetta, shown in Vision here. Gloom-girt 'mid Spring-flushed apple-growth she stands; And as she sways the branches with her hands, Along her arm the sundered bloom falls sheer, In separate petals shed, each like a tear; While from the quivering bough the bird expands His wings. And lo! thy spirit understands Life shaken and shower'd and flown, and Death drawn near. All stirs with change. Her garments beat the air: The angel circling round her aureole Shimmers in flight against the tree's grey bole: While she, with reassuring eyes most fair, A presage and a promise stands; as 'twere On Death's dark storm the rainbow of the Soul. <hi rend="c">THE DAY-DREAM</hi>.<lb/> <hi rend="sc">(FOR A PICTURE.)</hi> THE thronged boughs of the shadowy sycamore Still bear young leaflets half the summer through; From when the robin 'gainst the unhidden blue Perched dark, till now, deep in the leafy core, The embowered throstle's urgent wood-notes soar Through summer silence. Still the leaves come new; Yet never rosy-sheathed as those which drew Their spiral tongues from spring-buds heretofore. Within the branching shade of Reverie Dreams even may spring till autumn; yet none be Like woman's budding day-dream spirit-fann'd. Lo! tow'rd deep skies, not deeper than her look, She dreams; till now on her forgotten book Drops the forgotten blossom from her hand.