University of Virginia Library

I.

[Thou dost but flit, my merle! from tree to tree]

Thou dost but flit, my merle! from tree to tree,
While on the heights of morn the lark is loud.
Thou hast no wish thy native world to flee,
Knowing the star is far, and dense the cloud.

III.

[The Poet gathers fruit from every tree]

The Poet gathers fruit from every tree,
Yea, grapes from thorns and figs from thistles he.
Pluck'd by his hand, the basest weed that grows
Towers to a lily, reddens to a rose.

IV. THE PLAY OF “KING LEAR.”

Here Love the slain with Love the slayer lies;
Deep drown'd are both in the same sunless pool.
Up from its depths that mirror thundering skies
Bubbles the wan mirth of the mirthless Fool.

VI.

['Tis human fortune's happiest height, to be]

'Tis human fortune's happiest height, to be
A spirit melodious, lucid, poised, and whole:
Second in order of felicity
I hold it, to have walk'd with such a soul.

VII.

[I close your Marlowe's page, my Shakspere's ope.]

I close your Marlowe's page, my Shakspere's ope.
How welcome—after gong and cymbal's din—
The continuity, the long slow slope
And vast curves of the gradual violin!

VIII. SHELLEY AND HARRIET WESTBROOK.

A great star stoop'd from heaven and loved a flower
Grown in earth's garden—loved it for an hour:
Let eyes which trace his orbit in the spheres
Refuse not, to a ruin'd rosebud, tears.

IX. DÜRER'S ‘MELENCOLIA.’

What holds her fix'd far eyes nor lets them range?
Not the strange sea, strange earth, or heaven more strange;
But her own phantom dwarfing these great three,
More strange than all, more old than heaven, earth, sea.

X.

[To Art we go as to a well, athirst]

To Art we go as to a well, athirst,
And drinking see our shadow, and the sky's,
But wholly 'neath the water must be mers'd
To clasp the naiad Truth where low she lies.

XII. THINKERS, PAST AND PRESENT.

God, by the earlier sceptic, was exiled;
The later is more lenient grown and mild:
He sanctions God, provided you agree
To any other name for deity.

XIII. TO A POET.

Time, the extortioner, from richest beauty
Takes heavy toll and wrings rapacious duty.
Austere of feature if thou carve thy rhyme,
Perchance 'twill pay the lesser tax to Time.

XIV. THE YEAR'S MINSTRELSY.

Spring, the low prelude of a lordlier song:
Summer, a music without hint of death:
Autumn, a cadence lingeringly long:
Winter, a pause;—the Minstrel-Year takes breath.

XVII. THE RUINED ABBEY.

Flower-fondled, clasp'd in ivy's close caress,
It seems allied with Nature, yet apart:—
Of wood's and wave's insensate loveliness
The glad, sad, tranquil, passionate, human heart.

XVIII. ANTONY AT ACTIUM.

He holds a dubious balance:—yet that scale,
Whose freight the world is, surely shall prevail?
No; Cleopatra droppeth into this
One counterpoising orient sultry kiss.

XX.

[Nettle and dockleaf ancient neighbours be]

Nettle and dockleaf ancient neighbours be:
And herb-of-healing jostles bane-berry.
Grows by the bank which Marah's waters lave
The tree that maketh sweet the bitter wave.

XXI.

[My friend the apothecary o'er the way]

My friend the apothecary o'er the way
Doth in his window Byron's bust display.
Once, at Childe Harold's voice, did Europe bow:
He wears a patent lung-protector now.

XXIII. FROM THE SPANISH.

The Stage is all men's mirror clear.
They who condemn it, judgment pass
Upon themselves. Who fly it, fear
To meet their image in the glass.

XXIV.

[Momentous to himself as I to me]

Momentous to himself as I to me
Hath each man been that ever woman bore;
Once, in a lightning-flash of sympathy,
I felt this truth, an instant, and no more.

XXV.

[What would we here, what would we here at all,—]

What would we here, what would we here at all,—
Vex'd with the hungering eye and thirsting ear,—
Whirl'd with the whirling of the sleepless ball?
Behold we know not ev'n what would we here.

XXVI.

[Daily by his own hands are writ out fair]

Daily by his own hands are writ out fair
In a great book the great thoughts of the King.
We can but mark the purport here and there
For very wonder at the handwriting.

XXVIII. BACK FROM ABROAD.

I wearied of that southern sky and main,
Ocean and heaven one mutual bland blue smile.
Welcome the vapour-tarnish'd crown again
And wind-torn girdle of our northern isle!

XXIX. TO ROSSETTI DEAD.

Rich spirit escap'd these mortal hindrances
And dense impediments of crumbling clay,
To join thy kin thou journeyest: thou from these
Time-sunder'd wast; Keats, Dante, Tintoret they.

XXX.

[The gods man makes he breaks; proclaims them each]

The gods man makes he breaks; proclaims them each
Immortal, and himself outlives them all:
But whom he set not up he cannot reach
To shake His cloud-dark sun-bright pedestal.

XXXII. TO EDWARD DOWDEN.

On learning that he was about to be engaged upon the Life of Shelley.

Thy task will yield thee much sad happiness
With the sea-amorous Ariel, sea-betray'd.
Thyself I gratulate; and him not less,
The swift wild Sprite, who such a friend hath made!

XXXIII. MICHELANGELO'S “MOSES.”

The captain's might, and mystery of the seer—
Remoteness of Jehovah's colloquist,
Nearness of man's heaven-advocate—are here:
Alone Mount Nebo's harsh foreshadow is miss'd.

XXXIV. ROCHEFOUCAULD CONSISTENT.

Sage Duke, thy creed who runs may read—
Men feign in every word and deed.
Therewith thy practice well agreed,
For sure am I thou feign'dst thy creed.

XXXV. THE COURSE OF MUSIC.—TO CERTAIN CONTEMPORARY MUSICIANS.

Through Formalism her feet progress—
Reach Form,—yet still would onward press.
There bid her tarry! 'Tis, I guess,
But few steps more to Formlessness.

XXXVI.

[Like leaves on the swoln stream of the swift days]

Like leaves on the swoln stream of the swift days
Do all men somewhither move rushingly;
While Man stands at the brink, with eyes that gaze
Back to the source and forward to the sea.

XXXVIII. TWO POETS.

A peacock's-tail-like splendour hath this Muse,
With eyes that see not throng'd, and gorgeous hues.
The swan's white grace that other wears instead,
Stately with stem-like throat and flower-like head.

XXXIX. “ON SUCH A NIGHT.”

On such a night as this, pale Hero found,
By the blown waters, the world's sweetness drown'd.
And all was woe beneath the moonbeam, save
The innumerable laugh of leagues of wave.

XL.

[Thou canst not loose the tangles: let them be.]

Thou canst not loose the tangles: let them be.
Accept the shadow with the verity.
Aye at one birth, Truth and the Dream are born.
Lo! near the Ivory Gate, the Gate of Horn.

XLII. WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI'S POEMS.

Songstress, in all times ended and begun,
Thy billowy-bosom'd fellows are not three.
Of those sweet peers, the grass is green o'er one;
And blue above the other is the sea.

XLIII. THE ALPS.

Adieu, white brows of Europe! sovereign brows,
That wear the sunset for a golden tiar.
With me in memory shall your phantoms house
For ever, whiter than yourselves, and higher.

XLIV.

[Our lithe thoughts gambol close to God's abyss]

Our lithe thoughts gambol close to God's abyss,
Children whose home is by the precipice.
Fear not thy little ones shall o'er it fall:
Solid, though viewless, is the girdling wall.

XLV.

[Lives there whom Pain hath evermore pass'd by]

Lives there whom Pain hath evermore pass'd by
And Sorrow shunn'd with an averted eye?
Him do thou pity, him above the rest,
Him of all hapless mortals most unbless'd.

XLVI. SHELLEY'S DEATH.

'Twas some enamour'd Nereid craved a storm
Of Eolus, her minstrel to immerse
In blue cold waves and white caresses warm:
So the sea whelm'd him, whelming not his verse.

XLVII. THE CATHEDRAL SPIRE.

It soars like hearts of hapless men who dare
To sue for gifts the gods refuse to allot;
Who climb for ever toward they know not where,
Baffled for ever by they know not what.

XLVIII.

['Tis meet the Poet sometimes walk, unchid]

'Tis meet the Poet sometimes walk, unchid,
In vagueness of the word-spun veil half-hid.
'Tis meet the mountain sometimes be allowed
To cloak its heaven-conversant peaks with cloud.

LI. A MARGINAL NOTE ON “THE TEMPEST.”

The Truth is shackles and an iron door.
In dreams alone we drink of liberty.
For fetters whilst unfelt are bonds no more,
And free they are who think that they are free.

LII.

[Who never knew a sorrow grow his friend]

Who never knew a sorrow grow his friend
And half regretted from his threshold wend?
Who never long'd his tear-scorcht eyes to lave
Rather with any than with Lethe's wave?

LIII.

[“How weak are words—to carry thoughts like mine!”]

“How weak are words—to carry thoughts like mine!”
Saith each dull dangler round the much-bored Nine.
Yet words sufficed for Shakspere's suit when he
Woo'd Time, and won instead Eternity.

LIV. AN ALLEGED CHARACTERISTIC OF GOETHE.

'Tis writ, O Dogs, that Goethe hated you.
I doubt:—for was not he a poet true?
True poets but transcendent lovers be,
And one great love-confession poesy.

LV. THE TOWN, BY GASLIGHT.

Here age loathes age, and youth doth youth decoy
With pleasure's joyless travesty of joy;
And Sin and Death with link'd arms walk the street;
And night's mad heart doth beat, and beat, and beat.

LVI. BYRON AND WORDSWORTH.

For Byron, song was an insatiate flame
To fling his heart in when the world stood by.
To Wordsworth like his mountain brooks it came,
An earthborn coolness colour'd with the sky.

LVII. THE METROPOLITAN UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.

Here were a goodly place wherein to die;—
Grown latterly to sudden change averse,
All violent contrasts fain avoid would I
On passing from this world into a worse.

LIX.

[A deft musician does the breeze become]

A deft musician does the breeze become
Whenever an Æolian harp it finds:
Hornpipe and hurdygurdy both are dumb
Unto the most musicianly of winds.

LX. ON SEEING THE TOMB OF INFANT BROTHERS TWIN-BORN.

Mates of the cradle, fellows of the grave,
A handbreadth parts them in the mould below;
Whom, had they lived, perhaps the estranging wave,
Or hate—or love—had sunder'd wide enow.

LXI. A MAIDEN'S EPITAPH.

She dwelt among us till the flowers, 'tis said,
Grew jealous of her: with precipitate feet,
As loth to wrong them unawares, she fled.
Earth is less fragrant now, and heaven more sweet.

LXII.

[I follow Beauty; of her train am I]

I follow Beauty; of her train am I:
Beauty whose voice is earth and sea and air;
Who serveth, and her hands for all things ply;
Who reigneth, and her throne is everywhere.

LXIII.

[Full high we soar, and dive exceeding deep]

Full high we soar, and dive exceeding deep,
And tease the gods to fling the unwilling meed;
And best of guerdons is the grassy sleep
And dusty end of all our dream and deed.

LXIV. ON READING HOW THE WIDOW OF WAGNER CUT OFF HER HAIR, AND PLACED IT IN HER HUSBAND'S COFFIN WITH HIS CORPSE.

Her head's bright harvest, shorn, she laid i' the mould,
Flooding death's emptiness with billowy gold.
He sleeps; and in his earthy dreams, can see
Her lustrous love illume eternity.

LXV. A SOMETIME CONTEMPORARY.

Ah vain, thrice vain in the end, thy rage and hate.
Vain and thrice vain, as all shall see who wait.
For hawk at last shall be outsoar'd by dove,
And throats of thunder quell'd by lips of love.

LXVI. DARWINISM UPSIDE-DOWN.

The public voice, though faltering, still demurs
To own that men have apes for ancestors.
The inverse marvel fronts me daily, when
I talk with apes whose ancestors were men.

LXVII. MERLIN.

He—who made Nature jealous with his Art—
He slumbers folded in the oak-tree's heart.
And in his own heart, like a flower night-furl'd,
Slumbers the folded secret of the world.

LXVIII.

[Immured in sense, with fivefold bonds confined]

Immured in sense, with fivefold bonds confined,
Rest we content if whispers from the stars
In waftings of the incalculable wind
Come blown at midnight through our prison-bars.

LXIX.

[Once more a perfect morn! With feet that trod]

Once more a perfect morn! With feet that trod
Earth's green, and sun-kiss'd hair that swept heaven's blue—
Affable, smiling, aweless—I met God,
Delighted with his work as when 'twas new.

LXX. BYRON'S “DON JUAN.”

One singer loud among our latter quire
Likens to ocean this expanse of song.
Hoist sail, who would the waves' salt breath inspire!
But fear a lurch, whose stomachs are not strong.

LXXI. A HINT TO THE SHADE OF LAMB.

What! our Inspired Dyspeptic must select
Thee too, my heart's own Elia, to revile?
Avenge thee, gentle ghost! Rise, and project
A club of authors all damn'd by Carlyle.

LXXII.

[I know the tenebrous moods that interpose]

I know the tenebrous moods that interpose
Thick solid horror 'twixt our eyes and Day!
Who scape them? Sages? Saints? Perhaps: and those
Rapt hogs, in heaven of hog-swill, o'er the way.

LXXIII.

[For metaphors of man we search the skies]

For metaphors of man we search the skies,
And find our allegory in all the air.
We gaze on Nature with Narcissus-eyes,
Enamour'd of our shadow everywhere.

LXXIV. ART.

The thousand painful steps at last are trod,
At last the temple's difficult door we win;
But perfect on his pedestal, the god
Freezes us hopeless when we enter in.

LXXV. ON LONGFELLOW'S DEATH.

No puissant singer he, whose silence grieves
To-day the great West's tender heart and strong;
No singer vast of voice: yet one who leaves
His native air the sweeter for his song.

LXXVI.

[Thou deemest that the soul through death ascends]

Thou deemest that the soul through death ascends
To lordlier halls than sumptuous Life doth rule.
They needs were bright and wide, to make amends
For such a strait and lampless vestibule.

LXXVII.

[I roam'd through streets with human ruins strewn]

I roam'd through streets with human ruins strewn
Where mirthless laughter hid Sin's writhing heart.
The lamps shone round me; o'er me shone the moon:
And earth and heaven seem'd very wide apart.

LXXVIII. SHAKSPERE'S POURTRAYAL OF CÆSAR.

With critic eye earth's lordliest soul he scann'd,
And drew the demigod with captious hand.
Perverse! to paint the sunspots every one,
And quite leave out the interlustrous sun.

LXXIX. TO MR. GLADSTONE (1882).

Sculptor of nobler stuff than marble thou,
Shaping the morrow from the plastic Now.
Fain wouldst thou carve it fair;—alas! what use?
A churl's rais'd foot can mar a Pheidian Zeus.

LXXXI.

[Toiling and yearning, 'tis man's doom to see]

Toiling and yearning, 'tis man's doom to see
No perfect creature fashion'd of his hands.
Insulted by a flower's immaculacy,
And mock'd at by the flawless stars he stands.

LXXXII. TO WALT WHITMAN.

Some find thee foul and rank and fetid, Walt,
Who cannot tell Arabia from a sty.
Thou followest Truth, nor fearest, nor dost halt;
Truth: and the sole uncleanness is a lie.

LXXXIII. TO GOETHE.

With earth well pleas'd, thou liv'dst to sing and know;
Yet somewhat as the stars in thine own song,
That haste not, neither rest, didst o'er it glow:
A light that, setting, for more light didst long.

LXXXV.

[Not yet the ghosts of the old gods are laid.]

Not yet the ghosts of the old gods are laid.
By the wing'd archer still, youth's wounds are made.
And still in the blue deeps of virgins' eyes
Dances the wave whence Venus did arise.

LXXXVI. BROWNING.

A lion!—And with such can no beast cope.
The shaggiest lion couch'd on Parnasse' slope.
Entoil'd at times with meshes hard to undo:
Which God inspire the mouse to nibble through!

LXXXVII. TO A SEABIRD.

Fain would I have thee barter fates with me—
Lone loiterer where the shells like jewels be,
Hung on the fringe and fray'd hem of the sea.
But no!—'twere cruel, white-wing'd Bliss! to thee.

LXXXVIII. “MANY THINGS ARE GROWING PLAIN AND CLEAR TO ME.”

What saw he when this mist of flesh 'gan lift?
Truth like a dawn flame tow'rd him through the rift,
And old ghosts hide them from the wild new gleam.
He wonder'd; and shook off this clinging dream.

LXXXIX. TANTALUS.

He woo's for ever with foil'd lips of drouth
The wave that wearies not to mock his mouth.
'Tis Lethe's. They alone that tide have quaff'd
Who never thirsted for the oblivious draught.

XC.

[Brook, from whose bridge the wandering idler peers]

Brook, from whose bridge the wandering idler peers
To watch thy small fish dart or cool floor shine,
I would that bridge whose arches all are years
Spann'd not a less transparent wave than thine!

XCI.

[One music maketh its occult abode]

One music maketh its occult abode
In all things scatter'd from great Beauty's hand;
And evermore the deepest words of God
Are yet the easiest to understand.

XCII.

[Enough of mournful melodies, my lute!]

Enough of mournful melodies, my lute!
Be henceforth joyous, or be henceforth mute.
Song's breath is wasted when it does but fan
The smouldering infelicity of man.

XCIII.

[For thee, the gods yet haunt Olympus hill]

For thee, the gods yet haunt Olympus hill:
Thou seest beside each muse-frequented rill
The twice nine feet of song a-straying still:
For there is nought he may not see, who will.

XCIV. TO A FOOLISH WISE MAN.

The world's an orange—thou hast suck'd its juice;
But wherefore all this pomp and pride and puffing?
Somehow a goose is none the less a goose
Though moon and stars be minc'd to yield it stuffing.

XCV. “SUBJECTIVITY” IN ART.

If, in the Work, must needs stand manifest
The Person, be his features, therein shown,
Like a man's thought in a god's words express'd—
His own and somehow greater than his own.

XCVII.

[I pluck'd this flower, O brighter flower, for thee]

I pluck'd this flower, O brighter flower, for thee,
There where the river dies into the sea.
To kiss it the wild west wind hath made free:
Kiss it thyself and give it back to me.

XCVIII.

[Marr'd is our music by the singer's tears]

Marr'd is our music by the singer's tears
And vex'd with tremblings of the harper's hand.
The perfect notes of the symphonious spheres
Who but the listening stars may understand?

XCIX.

[To be as this old elm full loth were I]

To be as this old elm full loth were I,
That shakes in the autumn storm its palsied head.
Hewn by the weird last woodman let me lie
Ere the path rustle with my foliage shed.

C.

[His rhymes the poet flings at all men's feet]

His rhymes the poet flings at all men's feet,
And whoso will may trample on his rhymes.
Should Time let die a song that's true and sweet
The singer's loss were more than match'd by Time's.