The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti :: :: University of Virginia Library

The sweetly-favoured face
She has, and her good cheer,
Have filled me full of grace
When I have walked with her.
They did upon that day:
And everything that pass'd
Comes back from first to last
Now that I am away.

There went from her meek mouth
A poor low sigh which made
My heart sink down for drouth.
She stooped, and sobbed, and said,
“Sir, I entreat of you
Make little tarrying:
It is not a good thing
To leave one's love and go.”

But when I turned about
Saying, “God keep you well!”
As she look'd up, I thought
Her lips that were quite pale
Strove much to speak, but she
Had not half strength enough:
My own dear graceful love
Would not let go of me.

I am not so far, sweet maid,
That now the old love's unfelt:
I believe Tristram had
No such love for Yseult:
And when I see your eyes
And feel your breath again,
I shall forget this pain
And my whole heart will rise.

II
Canzonetta

To his Lady, in Spring

To see the green returning
To stream-side, garden, and meadow,—
To hear the birds give warning,
(The laughter of sun and shadow
Awaking them full of revel,)
It puts me in strength to carol
A music measured and level,
This grief in joy to apparel;
For the deaths of lovers are evil.

451

Love is a foolish riot,
And to be loved is a burden;
Who loves and is loved in quiet
Has all the world for his guerdon.
Ladies on him take pity
Who for their sake hath trouble:
Yet, if any heart be a city
From love embarrèd double,
Thereof is a joyful ditty.

That heart shall be always joyful;—
But I in the heart, my lady,
Have jealous doubts unlawful,
And stubborn pride stands ready.
Yet love is not with a measure,
But still is willing to suffer
Service at his good pleasure:
The whole Love hath to offer
Tends to his perfect treasure.

Thine be this prelude-music
That was of thy commanding;
Thy gaze was not delusive,—
Of my heart thou hadst understanding.
Lady, by thine attemp'rance
Thou heldst my life from pining:
This tress thou gav'st, in semblance
Like gold of the third refining,
Which I do keep for remembrance.

III
Canzone

Of his dead Lady

Death, why hast thou made life so hard to bear,
Taking my lady hence? Hast thou no whit
Of shame? The youngest flower and the most fair
Thou hast plucked away, and the world wanteth it.
O leaden Death, hast thou no pitying?
Our warm love's very spring
Thou stopp'st, and endest what was holy and meet;
And of my gladdening
Mak'st a most woful thing,
And in my heart dost bid the bird not sing
That sang so sweet.

Once the great joy and solace that I had
Was more than is with other gentlemen:—
Now is my love gone hence, who made me glad.
With her that hope I lived in she hath ta'en
And left me nothing but these sighs and tears,—
Nothing of the old years
That come not back again,
Wherein I was so happy, being hers.
Now to mine eyes her face no more appears,
Nor doth her voice make music in mine ears,
As it did then.

452

O God, why hast thou made my grief so deep?
Why set me in the dark to grope and pine?
Why parted me from her companionship,
And crushed the hope which was a gift of thine?
To think, dear, that I never any more
Can see thee as before!
Who is it shuts thee in?
Who hides that smile for which my heart is sore,
And drowns those words that I am longing for,
Lady of mine?

Where is my lady, and the lovely face
She had, and the sweet motion when she walk'd?—
Her chaste, mild favour—her so delicate grace—
Her eyes, her mouth, and the dear way she talk'd?—
Her courteous bending—her most noble air—
The soft fall of her hair? . . . .
My lady—she who to my soul so rare
A gladness brought!
Now I do never see her anywhere,
And may not, looking in her eyes, gain there
The blessing which I sought.

So if I had the realm of Hungary,
With Greece, and all the Almayn even to France,
Or Saint Sophia's treasure-hoard, you see
All could not give me back her countenance.
For since the day when my dear lady died
From us, (with God being born and glorified,)
No more pleasaunce
Her image bringeth, seated at my side,
But only tears. Ay me! the strength and pride
Which it brought once.

Had I my will, beloved, I would say
To God, unto whose bidding all things bow,
That we were still together night and day:
Yet be it done as His behests allow.
I do remember that while she remain'd
With me, she often called me her sweet friend;
But does not now,
Because God drew her towards Him, in the end.
Lady, that peace which none but He can send
Be thine. Even so.