Additional lines and fragments of verse extracted from the notes.
[To The Queen]
[Lines not used in the final version]
[_]
The third verse in proof.
MABLETHORPE
Here often when a child I lay reclined:
I took delight in this fair strand and free;
Here stood the infant Ilion of the mind,
And here the Grecian ships all seem'd to be.
And here again I come, and only find
The drain-cut level of the marshy lea,
Gray sand-banks, and pale sunsets, dreary wind,
Dim shores, dense rains, and heavy-clouded sea.
LOVE
I
Thou, from the first, unborn, undying Love,
Albeit we gaze not on thy glories near,
Before the face of God didst breathe and move,
Though night and pain and ruin and death reign here.
Thou foldest like a golden atmosphere,
The very throne of the eternal God;
Passing thro' thee, the edicts of His fear
Are mellow'd into music, borne abroad
By the loud winds, though they uprend the sea,
Even from his centred deeps; thine empery
Is over all; thou wilt not brook eclipse;
Thou goest and returnest to His Lips
Like lightening; thou dost ever brood above
The silence of all hearts, unutterable Love.
II
To know thee is all wisdom, and old age
Is but to know thee; dimly we behold thee
Athwart the veils of evil which enfold thee.
We beat upon our aching hearts with rage;
We cry for thee; we deem the world thy tomb.
As dwellers in lone planets look upon
The mighty disk of their majestic sun,
Hollow'd in awful chasms of wheeling gloom,
Making their day dim, so we gaze on thee.
Come, thou of many crowns, white-robèd Love,
O rend the veil in twain! all men adore thee;
Heaven crieth after thee; earth waileth for thee;
Breathe on thy wingèd throne, and it shall move
In music and in light o'er land and sea.
[The Miller's Daughter]
[Lines not used in the final version.]
[_]
Verse omitted after line 24.
[The Miller's Daughter]
[Lines not used in the final version]
[_]
Verses omitted from p. 151
Remember you the clear moonlight
That whiten'd all the eastern ridge,
When o'er the water dancing white
I stepp'd upon the old mill bridge?
I heard you whisper from above,
A lute-toned whisper, ‘I am here!’
I murmur'd ‘Speak again, my love,
The stream is loud: I cannot hear!’
I heard, as I have seem'd to hear,
When all the under-air was still,
The low voice of the glad New Year
Call to the freshly-flower'd hill.
I heard, as I have often heard,
The nightingale in leavy woods
Call to its mate when nothing stirr'd
To left or right but falling floods.
[The Palace of Art]
[Lines not used in the final version.]
One was the Tishbite whom the raven fed,
As when he stood on Carmel-steeps,
With one arm stretch'd out bare, and mock'd and said,
“Come, cry aloud—he sleeps.”
Tall, eager, lean and strong, his cloak windborne
Behind, his forehead heavenly bright
From the clear marble pouring glorious scorn,
Lit as with inner light.
[The Palace of Art]
[Lines not used in the final version]
One was Olympias: the floating snake
Roll'd round her ankles, round her waist
Knotted, and folded once about her neck,
Her perfect lips to taste,
Down from the shoulder moved; she seeming blithe
Declined her head: on every side
The dragon's curves melted, and mingled with
The woman's youthful pride
[The Palace of Art]
[Lines not used in the final version]
[_]
This verse was omitted from p.177, line 9.
[The Palace of Art]
[Lines not used in the final version]
[_]
These verses originally followed line 20.
“From shape to shape at first within the womb
The brain is moulded,” she began,
“And thro' all phases of all thought I come
Unto the perfect man.
All nature widens upward. Evermore
The simpler essence lower lies,
More complex is more perfect, owning more
Discourse, more widely wise.”
[A Dream of Fair Women]
[Lines not used in the final version]
As when a man that sails in a balloon,
Down-looking, sees the solid shining ground
Stream from beneath him in the broad blue noon,
Tilth, hamlet, mead and mound:
And takes his flags and waves them to the mob,
That shout below, all faces turn'd to where
Glows ruby-like the far-up crimson globe,
Fill'd with a finer air;
So, lifted high, the poet at his will
Lets the great world flit from him, seeing all,
Higher thro' secret splendours mounting still,
Self-poised, nor fears to fall,
Hearing apart the echoes of his fame.
While I spoke thus, the seedsman, memory,
Sow'd my deep-furrow'd thought with many a name,
Whose glory will not die.”
HOME
What shall sever me
From the love of home?
Shall the weary sea,
Leagues of sounding foam?
Shall extreme distress,
Shall unknown disgrace,
Make my love the less
For my sweet birth-place?
Tho' my brains grow dry,
Fancy mew her wings,
And my memory
Forget all other things,—
Tho' I could not tell
My left hand from my right,—
I should know thee well,
Home of my delight!
