Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. Mark me how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs, Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart Christina Georgina Rossetti 1830-1894 UP-HILL (From Goblin Market, etc., 1862) Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Will the day's journey take the whole long day? But is there for the night a resting-place? Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. SYMBOLS (From Devotional Pieces) I watched a rosebud very long Brought on by dew and sun and shower, And fell at even-song. I watched a nest from day to day, Or tired, and flew away. Then in my wrath I broke the bough But the dead branch spoke from the sod, (From Monna Innominata, in A Pageant and Other Poems, 1881) 'Amor che a nulla amato amar perdona.”—Dante. "Amor m'addusse in sì gioiosa spene."-PETRARCA. O my heart's heart, and you who are to me More than myself myself, God be with you, Keep you in strong obedience leal and true To Him whose noble service setteth free, Give you all good we see or can foresee, Make your joys many and your sorrows few, Bless you in what you bear and what you do, Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. So much for you; but what for me, dear friend? To love you without stint and all I can To-day, to-morrow, world without an end; To love you much and yet to love you more, As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore; Since woman is the helpmeet made for man. (From the same) "Ela Sua Volontade è nostra pace.”—DANTE. 'Sol con questi pensier, con altre chìome."-PETRARCA. Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, To shame a cheek at best but little fair, Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,— I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, Except such common flowers as blow with corn. Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; The silence of a heart which sang its songs While youth and beauty made a summer morn, Silence of love that cannot sing again. (From Later Life, in the same) Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made, Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness, Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress: Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laid Upon us, and our feebleness unstayed Except Thou stay us: for the long long race Which stretches far and far before our face Thou knowest,-remember Thou whereof we are made. If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are; And if redemption, we are twice Thine own: If once Thou didst come down from heaven afar To seek us and to find us, how not save? Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone, Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave. William Morris 1834-1896 AN APOLOGY (From The Earthly Paradise, 1868–70) Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days dieRemember me a little then I pray, The idle singer of an empty day. The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, These idle verses have no power to bear; So let me sing of names remembered, Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, Or long time take their memory quite away From us poor singers of an empty day. Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Folk say, a wizard to a northern king At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, So with this Earthly Paradise it is, |