Sonnets by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Tinker Library, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University) Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 © Yale University, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library Sonnets by Dante Gabriel Rossetti Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1848-50 miscellaneous collection [i-xii], [1-55] With the exception of the last fragment of verse, written into the book much later, the poems here are all early work and were fair copied into the notebook at an early date as well. The Tinker Library, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University 1798 white ruled none 22.5 x 18 cm Bound by Riviere in full red morocco. Front and back. Commentary
Introduction

This collection is an early notebook containing DGR's fair copies of poems he wrote before 1850, as the title page indicates. Most are sonnets that he and his brother wrote as part of the game of bouts rimés they used to play with each other to hone their prosodic skills (see commentaries for Another Love and The Heart of the Night ). But in addition to those bouts rimés sonnets, the collection includes a handful of other early work.

The handwriting is uniform and distinctive, with the exception of the cancelled fragment of text on page [48], which is scripted in a much later hand. From other manuscript and proof materials we can see that DGR recovered this notebook in 1868-1869 and used it as a resource for thinking about his poetry at that time. He must have considered printing some of this work in his 1870 <hi rend="i">Poems</hi> .

 Round seal at top middle of page. Bookplate with image of bird and shield. Text reads “Ex Libris” and “William Marchbank”. CBT 1798 Upper right corner. Blank page. Blank page. Blank page. Blank page. Wm Rossetti from Gabriel's books 1882 WMR's script, upper right corner.

Sonnets and other short pieces, mostly written before 1850 D G Rossetti.

 Blank page. Frontispiece with engraving of DGR. Script below reads: Mather & Cockerell Ph.Sc.Dante Gabriel RossettiAet. circ. 44 From a drawing by himself

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 An Altar Flame The Heart of the Night and Other Sonnets by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. -------- The Original Holograph Manuscripts Exhibiting interesting variations from the published text -------- Composed previous to the Year 1850 blank page An Altar-Flame Even as when utter summer makes the grain Bow heavily along through the whole land It seems to me whatever while I stand Where thou art standing; and upon my brain Thy presence weighs like a most awful strain Of music, heard in some cathedral fanned With the deep breath of prayer, while the priest's hand Uplifts the solemn sign which shall remain After the world. Thy beauty perfecteth A noble calmness in me; it doth send Through my weak heart to my strong mind a rule Of life that they shall keep till shut of death: Death—an arched path too long to see the end, But which hath shadows that seem pure & cool. ------------- blank page This sonnet would be earlier than 1850. Faint pencil notation at the top of the page in WMR's hand. B & S 1881 WMR's note in upper right corner, indicating the publication of the sonnet in the 1881 <hi rend="i">Ballads and Sonnets</hi> . The Heart of the Night ------------- From child to youth; from youth to weary man; From lethargy to fever of the heart; From faithful life to mouldering days apart; From doubt to dread; from dread to bale and ban; Thus much of change in thy swift cycle ran Till now. Alas! the soul—how soon must she Accept her primal immortality,— The flesh that dust wherein its course began? O Lord of work and will! O Lord of life! O Lord, the awful Lord of love! though late, Even still renew this soul with duteous breath: That when the will is garnered in from strife, The work retrieved, the love regenerate, She may behold my This soul may see thy face, O Lord of death! ------------- blank page Pall Mall Mag. Notation in upper right corner indicating the location of the sonnet's first publication Another Love ----------- Of her I thought who now is gone so far: And, the thought passing over, to fall thence Was like a fall from spirit into sense Or from the heaven of heavens to sun and star. None other than Love's self ordained the bar 'Twixt her and me; so that if, going hence, I met her, it could only seem a dense Film of the brain,—just nought, as phantoms are. Now when I passed your threshold and came in, And glanced where you were sitting, & did see Your tresses in these braids and your hands thus,— I knew that other figure, grieved and thin, That seemed there, yea that was there, could not be, Though like God's wrath it stood dividing us. ----------- blank page Almost Over ----------- I think I should not think upon her now: But then I have stood beside her listening, And watched her rose-breathed lips when she would sing: And I can scarcely yet imagine how I ever should despise that stately brow Or her sloped breast that's so superb a thing. There is so much of weary blood-running When from the heart one strives to tear a vow! And yet perchance—even as you tell me—soon Her spirit of my spirit will leave hold, And when I hear her tread, I shall not blush Doubly, for love and shame. But then the moon Will certainly be up, and Death will fold Her hair round me, and God will whisper Hush! ----------- blank page Afterwards ----------- She opened her moist crimson lips to sing; And from her throat that is so white & full The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull Was o'er my heart: as when—a viol-string Having been broken—the first musical ring Once over, all the rest is but a dull Crude dissonance, howe'er thou twist & pull The sundered fragments. A most weary thing It is within the perished heart to seek Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall Like sleep upon the mind. The mere set plan Of life then comes, and grief that is not weak Because it has no tears. Life's all-in-all Was certainly at end when this began. ----------- blank page Height in Depth ----------- He turned his face apart, and gave a sigh And a strange whimper—such a pitiful thing As haunts the heart for days. “Yes, Love can bring Unto a pass so low that it seems high: And, when we see a brave & strong man cry With a poor infant's feeble sorrowing, It is much a nobler than when he doth passion than to wing Shafts of small angers & small prides,” thought I. There is a love so deaf that it can hear Not even its own voice which bids it seek A name for its own meanness: it would find The outlet else. But thus it is a sheer Humility—an earnestness so meek That your knees bow and sharp tears make you blind. ----------- blank page At Issue -------------- That voice I hear,—how heard I cannot tell,— Although my home is this, seems from my home: There.....still it trails along and murmurs “Come”; Like the slow death of sound within a bell, Or like the humming whine in some pink shell Wet with the brittle beadage of the foam Which bird-eyed damsels stoop for when they roam By the old sea. Were't not exceeding well To shake my soul out of this tiresome life For a call any whence and any whither? That voice knows well all the life I have or had, And mocks me not,—it's whisper is too sad. Even to attain calm sorrow lures me thither, Since here this search for joy wearies like strife. -------------- blank page G Notation in upper right corner in unknown hand; perhaps by WMR signalling DGR's authorship Praise and Prayer -------------- Doubt spake no word in me as there I kneeled. Loathing, I could not praise: I could not thank God for the cup of evil that I drank: I dared not cry upon his strength to shield My soul from from weapons it was bent to wield Itself against itself. And so I sank Into the furnished phrases smooth & blank Which we all learn in childhood,— & did yield A barren prayer for life. My voice might mix With hers, but mingled not. Hers was a full Grand burst of music, which the crownèd Seven Must have leaned sideways from their seats to fix In their calm minds. The seraph—songs fell dull Doubtless, when heard again, throughout all heaven. -------------- blank page The Turning-Point ----- At length I sickened, standing in the sun Truthful and for the Truth, whose only fees Are madness and sharp death. I bowed my knees And said: “As long as the world's years have run, These accents have been said & these things done: That which is mine abasement is their ease: They say, “Go to—all this is as we please: Shall we, being many, step aside for one?” And thus it is that though the air be new, And my brow finds the coolness it hath sought Through the slow-stricken night,—the daily curse Weighs on my soul of what I waken to: For though I loathe the price, this must be bought. ... Thou fool! Would'st buy from man what God confers? blank page Hidden Harmony ---- The thoughts in me are very calm & high That think upon your love: yet by your leave You shall not greatly marvel that this eve Or nightfall—yet scarce nightfall—the strong sky Leaves me thus sad. Now if you ask me why, I cannot teach you, dear; but I believe It is that man will always interweave Grace Life with fresh want, life with the wish or fear to die. It may be therefore,—though the matter touch Nowise our love,—that I so often look Sad in your presence, often feeling so. And of the reason I can tell thus much:— Man's soul is like the music in a book Which were not music but for high & low. ------------ blank page not published Notation in the upper left corner in unknown hand. <del>Sunset</del> --- Some few birds still beat on, weary & late, To where the Sunset brooded far alone. I knew the whole poor heart that was mine own, Yet did not cry aloud nor feebly prate, But held hard silentness. The evil weight Of wing had long been sore, though Hope had flown Till then in somewise: now, Hope's flight was grown So weak, she needs must leave the race to Fate. Fate beateth at the forehead hard, and must Come in, even though the mist of grief be thick Shading the brain: it must come in, & will. It shall work madness, but it may not kill. 'Twere too much ruth—the body's mortal thrust, When heart & mind & spirit are all sick. blank page A Foretaste ------------ At length the then of my long hope was now; Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest: I knew the good past better was grown best At length, but could not just as yet tell how. So I lay straight along, and thrust my brow Under the heights of grass. Hours struck. The west, I knew, must be at change; but gazed not, lest The heat against my naked face— (no bough For shade)— should tease me mad, like poisoned spice. I lay along, letting my whole self think, Pressing my brow down that the thoughts might fix: Just as a dicer who holds loaded dice, Sure of his cast, keeps trifling with his drink Ere he will throw, and still must taste & mix. ------------ blank page Idle Blessedness ------------ I know not how it is, I have the knack, In lazy moods, of seeking no excuse; But holding that man's ease must be the juice Of man's philosophy, I give the sack To thought, and lounge at shuffle on the track Of what employment seems of the least use: And in such ways I find a constant sluice For drowzy humours. Be thou loth to rack And hack thy brain for thought, which may lurk there Or may not. Without pain of thought, the eyes Can see, the ears can hear, the sultry mouth Can taste the summer's favour. Towards the South Let earth sway round, while this my body lies In warmth, and has the sun on face & hair. ------------ blank page By the Roadside Upon a Flemish road, when noon was deep, I passed a little consecrated shrine, Where among simple pictures ranged in line, The blessed Mary holds her Son asleep. To kneel here, shepherd-children leave their sheep When they feel grave because silence broods at heart of the sunshine, And again kneel here in the day's decline; And here, when their life ails them, come to weep. Night being full, I passed on the same road By the same shrine; within, a lamp was lit Which through the silence depth of clear utter darkness glowed. Thus, after heat of life, when doubts arise Dim-hurting, faith's pure lamp must strengthen beam onit, How oft unlit, alas! how oft that dies. ------------ blank page The first word in line 9 is obscured by a smudge. The World's Doing ------------ One scarce would think that we can be the same Who used, in those first childish Junes, to creep With held breath through the underwood, & leap Outside into the sun. Since this mine aim Took me unto itself, the joy which came Into my eyes at once sits hushed & deep; Nor even the sorrow moans, but falls asleep And has ill dreams. For you—your very name Seems altered in mine ears, and cannot send Heat through my heart, as in those days afar Wherein we lived indeed with the real life. Yet why should we feel shame, my dear sweet friend? Are they most honoured who without a scar Pace forth, all trim & fresh, from the splashed strife? ------------ blank page Ancilla Domini<lb/>(for an early Florentine picture.)<lb/> <del>For a Picture of the Annunciation.<lb/>(Early Florentine School)</del> ------------ The lilies stand before her like a screen Through which, upon this warm & solemn day, God surely hears. For there she kneels to pray To whom our prayers belong—Mary the Queen She was Faith's Present, parting what had been From what began with her and is for aye. On either side God's twofold system lay: With meek bowed face a virgin prayed between. So prays she, and the Dove flies in to her, And she has turned. Within the porch is one Who looks as though deep awe made him to smile. Heavy with heat, the plants yield shadow there; The loud flies cross each other in the sun; And the aisle-pillars meet the poplar-aisle. ------------ blank page For a "Virgin & Child" by Michael Angelo ------------ Mystery: God, man's life, born into man Of woman. There abideth on her brow The ended pang of knowledge, the which now Is calm assured. Since first her task began She hath known all. What sterner anguish than She oft hath suffered, who for many a space Of nights and days hath wept upon her face While like a heavy flood the darkness ran? All hath been told her touching her dear son, And all shall be accomplished. Where he sits Even now, a babe, he holds the symbol fruit Perfect and chosen. Until God permits, His soul's elect still have the absolute Harsh nether darkness, & make painful moan. ------------ blank page Some faint pencil lettering at the top of the manuscript is indecipherable. 348 In the upper right corner, the pagination number for the printing of the poem in the 1886 collected edition. For a “Marriage of St. Catherine”, by Memmeling ------------ Mystery: Catherine, the bride of Christ. She kneels, and on her hand the holy Child Now sets the ring. Her life is hushed and mild, Laid in God's knowledge—ever unenticed From Him, and in the end thus fitly priced. Awe, and the music which is near her, wrought Of angels, have possessed her eyes in thought: Her utter joy is hers and hath sufficed. There is a pause while Mary Virgin turns The leaf and reads. With eyes on the spread book, The damsel at her knees reads after her. John whom He loved, & John His harbinger, Listen and watch. Whereon soe'er thou look, The light is starred in gems & the gold burns. ------------ blank page 215 In the upper right corner, the pagination number for the printing of the poem in the 1886 collected edition. Old and New Art. <lb/> <add>III. The Husbandmen</add> ------------ Though God, as one that is an householder, Called these to labour in His vineyard first, Before the husk of darkness was well burst Bidding them grope their way out and bestir, (Who, questioned of their wages, answered, “Sir, Unto each man a penny:”) though the worst Burthen of heat was theirs & the dry thirst: Though God has since found none such as these were To do their work like them:—Because of this Stand not ye idle in the market-place. Which of ye knoweth he is not that last Who may be first by faith & will?—that his Is not the hand which after the set days And hours shall give a future to their past? 1849 ------------ blank page O. & N. A. [St. Luke the Painter] DGR's notation about the last change of title of the sonnet for its appearance in the 1881 <hi rend="i">Ballads and Sonnets</hi> as part of the “Old and New Art” triptych. <del>Backward for Onward</del> <add>Not as These</add> ------------ “I am not as these are,” the poet saith When young, and the young painter, among men At bay where pencil cometh s not nor neither pen, And shut about with his own frozen breath. To others for whom only rhyme wins faith For As singers,—and paint for painters only paint as painters,— proudly then He turns in the cold silence; and again Shrinking, “I am not as these are,” he saith. And say that this is so, what follows it? For were thine eyes set backwards in thine head, Such words were well; but they see on, and far. Unto the lamps lights of the [???] great Past, new-lit Among the early wood Fair for the Future's track, look thou instead,— Say thou instead, “I am not as these are.” ------------ blank page 237 In the upper right corner, the pagination number for the printing of the poem in the 1886 collected edition. At the Sunrise in 1848 ------------ God said, Let there be light; and there was light. Then heard we sounds as though the Earth did sing And the earth's angel cried upon the wing: We saw priests fall together & turn white: And covered covered in the dust from the sun's sight, A king was spied, and yet another king. We said: “The round world keeps its balancing; On this globe they and we are opposite,— If it is day with us, with them 'tis night. Still, Man, in thy just pride remember this:— Thou hadst not made that thy sons' sons shall ask What the word King may mean in their day's task, But for the light that led: and if light is, It is because God said, Let there be light.” ------------ blank page Disìo e Compenso. <lb/>Due sonetti ------------ I O bocca che nell' ora del disìo Tante volte guardai e tenui pace,— Che i tanti spirti dell' occhio tenace Baciar tutt ora, e mai il labbro mio!— Ahi da te, bocca, che piacer vogl' io, O che speranza che non sia fallace? Qual tuo sorriso, dimmi se ti piace, E quai parole, per l'amor di Dio? Deh povera speranza! e come vuoi Raggiungere il piacer, con ali avorte, Alle gemelle sorridenti porte? Ogni parola che verebbe poi Più amorosa ahi più sarìa per noi Radice del silenzio della morte! ------------ blank page II ------------ O bocca che nell' ora del compenso Tante volte baciai, e tante volte Sentii da te, con mille voti accolte, Quelle parole d'immortal consenso:— Deh possa dei tuoi baci il sacro incenso Ravvolger sempre in nuvole più folte Le antiche tante omai larve sepolte, Empiendo il ciel del nostro amore immenso! Vieni, beata bocca, O vieni ancora! Lunghi pensando a te, l'amor disìa Dolce rugiada in tua rosata via. Non sei tu quella in cui ora ed ogn'ora Io vivo sol,— cui sol nell'alma mia Mercede invita Amore, e Amore adora? ------------------------ blank page The Mirror ------------------------ She knew it not:—most perfect pain To learn: this too she knew not. Strife For me, calm hers, as from the first. 'Twas but another bubble burst Upon the curdling draught of life,— My silent patience mine again. As who, of forms that crowd unknown Within a distant mirror's shade, Deems such an one himself, and makes Some sign: but when the image shakes No whit, he finds his thought betray'd, And must seek elsewhere for his own. The fragmentary text of the poem is heavily cancelled by DGR <del>After the German Subjugation of France<lb/>1871</del> Lo the twelfth year—the wedding-feast come round With years for months—and lo the babe new-born, Out of the blank page blank page blank page blank page blank page blank page #1264£00 Notation in upper left corner.