Love's Pageant and The Cloud Confines (Beinecke Library fair copy)

Love's Pageant and The Cloud Confines (Beinecke Library fair copy) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 © Yale University, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library Love's Pageant (H of L) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1871 fair copy one leaf DGR Beinecke Library unruled white laid paper The verso carries a fragment from the poem “The Cloud Confines” . Commentary

Introduction

This is the earliest of the four surviving manuscripts. The small revision in line 6 indicates the “occasional” and immediate character of the poem as originally composed.

On the verso of the manuscript is a fair copy of the fourth stanza of “The Cloud Confines”

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

The alternate reading for lines 10-11 is scripted at the bottom of the page. The Love Star Alternate title for the sonnet by DGR in upper left corner. XVII Numeration for the sonnet by DGR in upper left corner. Love's Pageant <add>(H of L)</add> What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last Incarnate flower of culminating day,— What marshalled marvels as 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 the ose 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 express disguise Was each fine movement,—wonder new-begot Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot; wonders new-begot On covetous Time by Love's high counterplot 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. What of the heart of love That bleeds in thy breast, O Man ?— Thy kisses snatched 'neath the ban Of fangs that mock them above; Thy bells prolonged unto knells, Thy hope that a breath dispels, Thy bitter forlorn farewells And the empty echoes thereof? Still we say as we go,— “Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day.”