471
I KNOW A LITTLE GARDEN-CLOSEI know a little garden-closeSet thick with lily and red rose,Where I would wander if I mightFrom dewy dawn to dewy night,And have one with me wandering.And though within it no birds sing,And though no pillared house is there,And though the apple boughs are bareOf fruit and blossom, would to God,Her feet upon the green grass trod,And I beheld them as before.There comes a murmur from the shore,And in the close two fair streams are,Drawn from the purple hills afar,Drawn down unto the restless sea;Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,Dark shores no ship has ever seen,Tormented by the billows greenWhose murmur comes unceasinglyUnto the place for which I cry.For which I cry both day and night,For which I let slip all delight,Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,Careless to win, unskilled to find,And quick to lose what all men seek.Yet tottering as I am, and weak,Still have I left a little breathTo seek within the jaws of deathAn entrance to that happy place,To seek the unforgotten face,Once seen, once kissed, once reft from meAnigh the murmuring of the sea.William Morris
I know a little garden-closeSet thick with lily and red rose,Where I would wander if I mightFrom dewy dawn to dewy night,And have one with me wandering.And though within it no birds sing,And though no pillared house is there,And though the apple boughs are bareOf fruit and blossom, would to God,Her feet upon the green grass trod,And I beheld them as before.There comes a murmur from the shore,And in the close two fair streams are,Drawn from the purple hills afar,Drawn down unto the restless sea;Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,Dark shores no ship has ever seen,Tormented by the billows greenWhose murmur comes unceasinglyUnto the place for which I cry.For which I cry both day and night,For which I let slip all delight,Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,Careless to win, unskilled to find,And quick to lose what all men seek.Yet tottering as I am, and weak,Still have I left a little breathTo seek within the jaws of deathAn entrance to that happy place,To seek the unforgotten face,Once seen, once kissed, once reft from meAnigh the murmuring of the sea.William Morris
I know a little garden-closeSet thick with lily and red rose,Where I would wander if I mightFrom dewy dawn to dewy night,And have one with me wandering.
I know a little garden-close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.
And though within it no birds sing,And though no pillared house is there,And though the apple boughs are bareOf fruit and blossom, would to God,Her feet upon the green grass trod,And I beheld them as before.
And though within it no birds sing,
And though no pillared house is there,
And though the apple boughs are bare
Of fruit and blossom, would to God,
Her feet upon the green grass trod,
And I beheld them as before.
There comes a murmur from the shore,And in the close two fair streams are,Drawn from the purple hills afar,Drawn down unto the restless sea;Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,Dark shores no ship has ever seen,Tormented by the billows greenWhose murmur comes unceasinglyUnto the place for which I cry.
There comes a murmur from the shore,
And in the close two fair streams are,
Drawn from the purple hills afar,
Drawn down unto the restless sea;
Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee,
Dark shores no ship has ever seen,
Tormented by the billows green
Whose murmur comes unceasingly
Unto the place for which I cry.
For which I cry both day and night,For which I let slip all delight,Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,Careless to win, unskilled to find,And quick to lose what all men seek.Yet tottering as I am, and weak,Still have I left a little breathTo seek within the jaws of deathAn entrance to that happy place,To seek the unforgotten face,Once seen, once kissed, once reft from meAnigh the murmuring of the sea.William Morris
For which I cry both day and night,
For which I let slip all delight,
Whereby I grow both deaf and blind,
Careless to win, unskilled to find,
And quick to lose what all men seek.
Yet tottering as I am, and weak,
Still have I left a little breath
To seek within the jaws of death
An entrance to that happy place,
To seek the unforgotten face,
Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me
Anigh the murmuring of the sea.
William Morris
472
FOLLOWFollow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,Though thou be black as night,And she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,Though here thou liv'st disgraced,And she in heaven is placed,Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,That so have scorchèd thee,As thou still black must be,Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.Follow her while yet her glory shineth:There comes a luckless night,That will dim all her light;And this the black unhappy shade divineth.Follow still since so thy fates ordainèd;The Sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade—The Sun still proud, the shadow still disdainèd.Thomas Campion
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,Though thou be black as night,And she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,Though here thou liv'st disgraced,And she in heaven is placed,Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,That so have scorchèd thee,As thou still black must be,Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.Follow her while yet her glory shineth:There comes a luckless night,That will dim all her light;And this the black unhappy shade divineth.Follow still since so thy fates ordainèd;The Sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade—The Sun still proud, the shadow still disdainèd.Thomas Campion
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,Though thou be black as night,And she made all of light,Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow,
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,Though here thou liv'st disgraced,And she in heaven is placed,Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.
Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,
Though here thou liv'st disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.
Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,That so have scorchèd thee,As thou still black must be,Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,
That so have scorchèd thee,
As thou still black must be,
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her while yet her glory shineth:There comes a luckless night,That will dim all her light;And this the black unhappy shade divineth.
Follow her while yet her glory shineth:
There comes a luckless night,
That will dim all her light;
And this the black unhappy shade divineth.
Follow still since so thy fates ordainèd;The Sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade—The Sun still proud, the shadow still disdainèd.Thomas Campion
Follow still since so thy fates ordainèd;
The Sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade—
The Sun still proud, the shadow still disdainèd.
Thomas Campion
473
UP-HILLDoes the road wind up-hill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss that inn.Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before.Then must I knock or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at the 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.Christina Rossetti
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss that inn.Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before.Then must I knock or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at the 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.Christina Rossetti
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss that inn.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before.Then must I knock or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at the door.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at the 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.Christina Rossetti
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.
Christina Rossetti
474
LOVELove bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slackFrom my first entrance in,Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioningIf I lacked anything."A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":Love said, "You shall be he.""I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!I cannot look on Thee."Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,"Who made the eyes but I?""Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shameGo where it doth deserve.""And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?""My dear, then I will serve.""You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."So I did sit and eat.George Herbert
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slackFrom my first entrance in,Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioningIf I lacked anything."A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":Love said, "You shall be he.""I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!I cannot look on Thee."Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,"Who made the eyes but I?""Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shameGo where it doth deserve.""And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?""My dear, then I will serve.""You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."So I did sit and eat.George Herbert
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slackFrom my first entrance in,Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioningIf I lacked anything.
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":Love said, "You shall be he.""I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!I cannot look on Thee."Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,"Who made the eyes but I?"
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!
I cannot look on Thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shameGo where it doth deserve.""And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?""My dear, then I will serve.""You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."So I did sit and eat.George Herbert
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
George Herbert
475
A ROYAL GUEST... Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lordShould of his own accordFriendly himself invite,And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night,"How should we stir ourselves, call and commandAll hands to work! "Let no man idle stand!"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall,See they be fitted allLet there be room to eat,And order taken that there want no meat.See every sconce and candlestick made bright,That without tapers they may give a light."Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,The dazie[207]o'er the head,The cushions in the chairs,And all the candles lighted on the stairs?Perfume the chambers, and in any caseLet each man give attendance in his place!"Thus, if the king were coming, would we do,And 't were good reason too;For 'tis a duteous thingTo show all honour to an earthly king,And after all our travail and our cost,So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.But at the coming of the King of HeavenAll's set at six and seven:We wallow in our sin,Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.We entertain Him always like a stranger,And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger.
... Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lordShould of his own accordFriendly himself invite,And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night,"How should we stir ourselves, call and commandAll hands to work! "Let no man idle stand!"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall,See they be fitted allLet there be room to eat,And order taken that there want no meat.See every sconce and candlestick made bright,That without tapers they may give a light."Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,The dazie[207]o'er the head,The cushions in the chairs,And all the candles lighted on the stairs?Perfume the chambers, and in any caseLet each man give attendance in his place!"Thus, if the king were coming, would we do,And 't were good reason too;For 'tis a duteous thingTo show all honour to an earthly king,And after all our travail and our cost,So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.But at the coming of the King of HeavenAll's set at six and seven:We wallow in our sin,Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.We entertain Him always like a stranger,And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger.
... Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lordShould of his own accordFriendly himself invite,And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night,"How should we stir ourselves, call and commandAll hands to work! "Let no man idle stand!
... Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lord
Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say, "I'll be your guest to-morrow night,"
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! "Let no man idle stand!
"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall,See they be fitted allLet there be room to eat,And order taken that there want no meat.See every sconce and candlestick made bright,That without tapers they may give a light.
"Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall,
See they be fitted all
Let there be room to eat,
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
"Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,The dazie[207]o'er the head,The cushions in the chairs,And all the candles lighted on the stairs?Perfume the chambers, and in any caseLet each man give attendance in his place!"
"Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dazie[207]o'er the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case
Let each man give attendance in his place!"
Thus, if the king were coming, would we do,And 't were good reason too;For 'tis a duteous thingTo show all honour to an earthly king,And after all our travail and our cost,So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
Thus, if the king were coming, would we do,
And 't were good reason too;
For 'tis a duteous thing
To show all honour to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
But at the coming of the King of HeavenAll's set at six and seven:We wallow in our sin,Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.We entertain Him always like a stranger,And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger.
But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven:
We wallow in our sin,
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain Him always like a stranger,
And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger.
476
EVEEve, with her basket, wasDeep in the bells and grass,Wading in bells and grassUp to her knees,Picking a dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Down in the bells and grassUnder the trees.Mute as a mouse in aCorner the cobra lay,Curled round a bough of theCinnamon tall....Now to get even andHumble proud heaven and—Now was the moment orNever at all."Eva!" Each syllableLight as a flower fell,"Eva!" he whispered theWondering maid,Soft as a bubble sungOut of a linnet's lung,Soft and most silverly"Eva!" he said.Picture that orchard sprite,Eve, with her body white,Supple and smooth to herSlim finger tips,Wondering, listening,Listening, wondering,Eve with a berryHalf-way to her lips.Oh, had our simple EveSeen through the make-believe!Had she but known thePretender he was!Out of the boughs he came,Whispering still her name,Tumbling in twenty ringsInto the grass.Here was the strangest pairIn the world anywhere,Eve in the bells and grassKneeling, and heTelling his story low....Singing birds saw them goDown the dark path toThe Blasphemous Tree.Oh, what a clatter whenTitmouse and Jenny WrenSaw him successful andTaking his leave!How the birds rated him,How they all hated him!How they all pitiedPoor motherless Eve!Picture her crying,Outside in the lane,Eve, with no dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Haunting the gate of theOrchard in vain....Picture the lewd delightUnder the hill to-night—"Eva!" the toast goes round,"Eva!" again.Ralph Hodgson
Eve, with her basket, wasDeep in the bells and grass,Wading in bells and grassUp to her knees,Picking a dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Down in the bells and grassUnder the trees.Mute as a mouse in aCorner the cobra lay,Curled round a bough of theCinnamon tall....Now to get even andHumble proud heaven and—Now was the moment orNever at all."Eva!" Each syllableLight as a flower fell,"Eva!" he whispered theWondering maid,Soft as a bubble sungOut of a linnet's lung,Soft and most silverly"Eva!" he said.Picture that orchard sprite,Eve, with her body white,Supple and smooth to herSlim finger tips,Wondering, listening,Listening, wondering,Eve with a berryHalf-way to her lips.Oh, had our simple EveSeen through the make-believe!Had she but known thePretender he was!Out of the boughs he came,Whispering still her name,Tumbling in twenty ringsInto the grass.Here was the strangest pairIn the world anywhere,Eve in the bells and grassKneeling, and heTelling his story low....Singing birds saw them goDown the dark path toThe Blasphemous Tree.Oh, what a clatter whenTitmouse and Jenny WrenSaw him successful andTaking his leave!How the birds rated him,How they all hated him!How they all pitiedPoor motherless Eve!Picture her crying,Outside in the lane,Eve, with no dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Haunting the gate of theOrchard in vain....Picture the lewd delightUnder the hill to-night—"Eva!" the toast goes round,"Eva!" again.Ralph Hodgson
Eve, with her basket, wasDeep in the bells and grass,Wading in bells and grassUp to her knees,Picking a dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Down in the bells and grassUnder the trees.
Eve, with her basket, was
Deep in the bells and grass,
Wading in bells and grass
Up to her knees,
Picking a dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Down in the bells and grass
Under the trees.
Mute as a mouse in aCorner the cobra lay,Curled round a bough of theCinnamon tall....Now to get even andHumble proud heaven and—Now was the moment orNever at all.
Mute as a mouse in a
Corner the cobra lay,
Curled round a bough of the
Cinnamon tall....
Now to get even and
Humble proud heaven and—
Now was the moment or
Never at all.
"Eva!" Each syllableLight as a flower fell,"Eva!" he whispered theWondering maid,Soft as a bubble sungOut of a linnet's lung,Soft and most silverly"Eva!" he said.
"Eva!" Each syllable
Light as a flower fell,
"Eva!" he whispered the
Wondering maid,
Soft as a bubble sung
Out of a linnet's lung,
Soft and most silverly
"Eva!" he said.
Picture that orchard sprite,Eve, with her body white,Supple and smooth to herSlim finger tips,Wondering, listening,Listening, wondering,Eve with a berryHalf-way to her lips.
Picture that orchard sprite,
Eve, with her body white,
Supple and smooth to her
Slim finger tips,
Wondering, listening,
Listening, wondering,
Eve with a berry
Half-way to her lips.
Oh, had our simple EveSeen through the make-believe!Had she but known thePretender he was!Out of the boughs he came,Whispering still her name,Tumbling in twenty ringsInto the grass.
Oh, had our simple Eve
Seen through the make-believe!
Had she but known the
Pretender he was!
Out of the boughs he came,
Whispering still her name,
Tumbling in twenty rings
Into the grass.
Here was the strangest pairIn the world anywhere,Eve in the bells and grassKneeling, and heTelling his story low....Singing birds saw them goDown the dark path toThe Blasphemous Tree.
Here was the strangest pair
In the world anywhere,
Eve in the bells and grass
Kneeling, and he
Telling his story low....
Singing birds saw them go
Down the dark path to
The Blasphemous Tree.
Oh, what a clatter whenTitmouse and Jenny WrenSaw him successful andTaking his leave!How the birds rated him,How they all hated him!How they all pitiedPoor motherless Eve!
Oh, what a clatter when
Titmouse and Jenny Wren
Saw him successful and
Taking his leave!
How the birds rated him,
How they all hated him!
How they all pitied
Poor motherless Eve!
Picture her crying,Outside in the lane,Eve, with no dish of sweetBerries and plums to eat,Haunting the gate of theOrchard in vain....Picture the lewd delightUnder the hill to-night—"Eva!" the toast goes round,"Eva!" again.Ralph Hodgson
Picture her crying,
Outside in the lane,
Eve, with no dish of sweet
Berries and plums to eat,
Haunting the gate of the
Orchard in vain....
Picture the lewd delight
Under the hill to-night—
"Eva!" the toast goes round,
"Eva!" again.
Ralph Hodgson
477
EVE"While I sit at the door,Sick to gaze within,Mine eye weepeth soreFor sorrow and sin:As a tree my sin standsTo darken all lands;Death is the fruit it bore."How have Eden bowers grownWithout Adam to bend them!How have Eden flowers blown,Squandering their sweet breath,Without me to tend them!The Tree of Life was ours,Tree twelvefold-fruited,Most lofty tree that flowers,Most deeply rooted:I chose the Tree of Death."Hadst thou but said me nay,Adam, my brother,I might have pined away;I, but none other:God might have let thee staySafe in our gardenBy putting me awayBeyond all pardon."I, Eve, sad motherOf all who must live,I, not another,Plucked bitterest fruit to giveMy friend, husband, lover.O wanton eyes run over;Who but I should grieve?—Cain hath slain his brother:Of all who must die mother,Miserable Eve!"Thus she sat weeping,Thus Eve our mother,Where one lay sleepingSlain by his brother.Greatest and leastEach piteous beastTo hear her voiceForgot his joysAnd set aside his feast.The mouse paused in his walkAnd dropped his wheaten stalk;Grave cattle wagged their headsIn rumination;The eagle gave a cryFrom his cloud station:Larks on thyme bedsForbore to mount or sing;Bees drooped upon the wing;The raven perched on highForgot his ration;The conies in their rock,A feeble nation,Quaked sympathetical;The mocking-bird left off to mock;Huge camels knelt as ifIn deprecation;The kind hart's tears were falling;Chattered the wistful stork;Dove-voices with a dying fallCooed desolationAnswering grief by grief.Only the serpent in the dust,Wriggling and crawling,Grinned an evil grin and thrustHis tongue out with its fork.Christina Rossetti
"While I sit at the door,Sick to gaze within,Mine eye weepeth soreFor sorrow and sin:As a tree my sin standsTo darken all lands;Death is the fruit it bore."How have Eden bowers grownWithout Adam to bend them!How have Eden flowers blown,Squandering their sweet breath,Without me to tend them!The Tree of Life was ours,Tree twelvefold-fruited,Most lofty tree that flowers,Most deeply rooted:I chose the Tree of Death."Hadst thou but said me nay,Adam, my brother,I might have pined away;I, but none other:God might have let thee staySafe in our gardenBy putting me awayBeyond all pardon."I, Eve, sad motherOf all who must live,I, not another,Plucked bitterest fruit to giveMy friend, husband, lover.O wanton eyes run over;Who but I should grieve?—Cain hath slain his brother:Of all who must die mother,Miserable Eve!"Thus she sat weeping,Thus Eve our mother,Where one lay sleepingSlain by his brother.Greatest and leastEach piteous beastTo hear her voiceForgot his joysAnd set aside his feast.The mouse paused in his walkAnd dropped his wheaten stalk;Grave cattle wagged their headsIn rumination;The eagle gave a cryFrom his cloud station:Larks on thyme bedsForbore to mount or sing;Bees drooped upon the wing;The raven perched on highForgot his ration;The conies in their rock,A feeble nation,Quaked sympathetical;The mocking-bird left off to mock;Huge camels knelt as ifIn deprecation;The kind hart's tears were falling;Chattered the wistful stork;Dove-voices with a dying fallCooed desolationAnswering grief by grief.Only the serpent in the dust,Wriggling and crawling,Grinned an evil grin and thrustHis tongue out with its fork.Christina Rossetti
"While I sit at the door,Sick to gaze within,Mine eye weepeth soreFor sorrow and sin:As a tree my sin standsTo darken all lands;Death is the fruit it bore.
"While I sit at the door,
Sick to gaze within,
Mine eye weepeth sore
For sorrow and sin:
As a tree my sin stands
To darken all lands;
Death is the fruit it bore.
"How have Eden bowers grownWithout Adam to bend them!How have Eden flowers blown,Squandering their sweet breath,Without me to tend them!The Tree of Life was ours,Tree twelvefold-fruited,Most lofty tree that flowers,Most deeply rooted:I chose the Tree of Death.
"How have Eden bowers grown
Without Adam to bend them!
How have Eden flowers blown,
Squandering their sweet breath,
Without me to tend them!
The Tree of Life was ours,
Tree twelvefold-fruited,
Most lofty tree that flowers,
Most deeply rooted:
I chose the Tree of Death.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,Adam, my brother,I might have pined away;I, but none other:God might have let thee staySafe in our gardenBy putting me awayBeyond all pardon.
"Hadst thou but said me nay,
Adam, my brother,
I might have pined away;
I, but none other:
God might have let thee stay
Safe in our garden
By putting me away
Beyond all pardon.
"I, Eve, sad motherOf all who must live,I, not another,Plucked bitterest fruit to giveMy friend, husband, lover.O wanton eyes run over;Who but I should grieve?—Cain hath slain his brother:Of all who must die mother,Miserable Eve!"
"I, Eve, sad mother
Of all who must live,
I, not another,
Plucked bitterest fruit to give
My friend, husband, lover.
O wanton eyes run over;
Who but I should grieve?—
Cain hath slain his brother:
Of all who must die mother,
Miserable Eve!"
Thus she sat weeping,Thus Eve our mother,Where one lay sleepingSlain by his brother.Greatest and leastEach piteous beastTo hear her voiceForgot his joysAnd set aside his feast.
Thus she sat weeping,
Thus Eve our mother,
Where one lay sleeping
Slain by his brother.
Greatest and least
Each piteous beast
To hear her voice
Forgot his joys
And set aside his feast.
The mouse paused in his walkAnd dropped his wheaten stalk;Grave cattle wagged their headsIn rumination;The eagle gave a cryFrom his cloud station:Larks on thyme bedsForbore to mount or sing;Bees drooped upon the wing;The raven perched on highForgot his ration;The conies in their rock,A feeble nation,Quaked sympathetical;The mocking-bird left off to mock;Huge camels knelt as ifIn deprecation;The kind hart's tears were falling;Chattered the wistful stork;Dove-voices with a dying fallCooed desolationAnswering grief by grief.Only the serpent in the dust,Wriggling and crawling,Grinned an evil grin and thrustHis tongue out with its fork.Christina Rossetti
The mouse paused in his walk
And dropped his wheaten stalk;
Grave cattle wagged their heads
In rumination;
The eagle gave a cry
From his cloud station:
Larks on thyme beds
Forbore to mount or sing;
Bees drooped upon the wing;
The raven perched on high
Forgot his ration;
The conies in their rock,
A feeble nation,
Quaked sympathetical;
The mocking-bird left off to mock;
Huge camels knelt as if
In deprecation;
The kind hart's tears were falling;
Chattered the wistful stork;
Dove-voices with a dying fall
Cooed desolation
Answering grief by grief.
Only the serpent in the dust,
Wriggling and crawling,
Grinned an evil grin and thrust
His tongue out with its fork.
Christina Rossetti
478
ADAMAdam lay i-bowndyn,bowndyn in a bond,Fowre thowsand wynterthowt he not to long;And al was for an appil,an appil that he tok,As clerkes fyndyn wretynin here Book.Ne hadde the appil takė ben,the appil taken ben,Ne hadde never our ladya ben hevene qwen.Blyssid be the tymethat appil takė was!Therefore we mown syngynDeo gracias.
Adam lay i-bowndyn,bowndyn in a bond,Fowre thowsand wynterthowt he not to long;And al was for an appil,an appil that he tok,As clerkes fyndyn wretynin here Book.Ne hadde the appil takė ben,the appil taken ben,Ne hadde never our ladya ben hevene qwen.Blyssid be the tymethat appil takė was!Therefore we mown syngynDeo gracias.
Adam lay i-bowndyn,bowndyn in a bond,Fowre thowsand wynterthowt he not to long;
Adam lay i-bowndyn,
bowndyn in a bond,
Fowre thowsand wynter
thowt he not to long;
And al was for an appil,an appil that he tok,As clerkes fyndyn wretynin here Book.
And al was for an appil,
an appil that he tok,
As clerkes fyndyn wretyn
in here Book.
Ne hadde the appil takė ben,the appil taken ben,Ne hadde never our ladya ben hevene qwen.
Ne hadde the appil takė ben,
the appil taken ben,
Ne hadde never our lady
a ben hevene qwen.
Blyssid be the tymethat appil takė was!Therefore we mown syngynDeo gracias.
Blyssid be the tyme
that appil takė was!
Therefore we mown syngyn
Deo gracias.
479
THE SEVEN VIRGINSAll under the leaves and the leaves of lifeI met with virgins seven,And one of them was Mary mild,Our Lord's mother of Heaven."O what are you seeking, you seven fair maidsAll under the leaves of life?Come tell, come tell, what seek youAll under the leaves of life?""We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,But for a friend of thine;We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,To be our guide and thine.""Go down, go down, to yonder town,And sit in the gallery,And there you'll see sweet Jesus ChristNailed to a big yew-tree."So down they went to yonder townAs fast as foot could fall,And many a grievous bitter tearFrom the virgins' eyes did fall."O peace, Mother, O peace, Mother,Your weeping doth me grieve:I must suffer this," He said,"For Adam and for Eve.""O Mother, take you John EvangelistAll for to be your son,And he will comfort you sometimes,Mother, as I have done.""O come, thou John Evangelist,Thou'rt welcome unto me;But more welcome my own dear Son,Whom I nursèd on my knee."Then he laid his head on His right shoulder,Seeing death it struck Him nigh—"The Holy Ghost be with your soul,I die, Mother dear, I die."...
All under the leaves and the leaves of lifeI met with virgins seven,And one of them was Mary mild,Our Lord's mother of Heaven."O what are you seeking, you seven fair maidsAll under the leaves of life?Come tell, come tell, what seek youAll under the leaves of life?""We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,But for a friend of thine;We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,To be our guide and thine.""Go down, go down, to yonder town,And sit in the gallery,And there you'll see sweet Jesus ChristNailed to a big yew-tree."So down they went to yonder townAs fast as foot could fall,And many a grievous bitter tearFrom the virgins' eyes did fall."O peace, Mother, O peace, Mother,Your weeping doth me grieve:I must suffer this," He said,"For Adam and for Eve.""O Mother, take you John EvangelistAll for to be your son,And he will comfort you sometimes,Mother, as I have done.""O come, thou John Evangelist,Thou'rt welcome unto me;But more welcome my own dear Son,Whom I nursèd on my knee."Then he laid his head on His right shoulder,Seeing death it struck Him nigh—"The Holy Ghost be with your soul,I die, Mother dear, I die."...
All under the leaves and the leaves of lifeI met with virgins seven,And one of them was Mary mild,Our Lord's mother of Heaven.
All under the leaves and the leaves of life
I met with virgins seven,
And one of them was Mary mild,
Our Lord's mother of Heaven.
"O what are you seeking, you seven fair maidsAll under the leaves of life?Come tell, come tell, what seek youAll under the leaves of life?"
"O what are you seeking, you seven fair maids
All under the leaves of life?
Come tell, come tell, what seek you
All under the leaves of life?"
"We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,But for a friend of thine;We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,To be our guide and thine."
"We're seeking for no leaves, Thomas,
But for a friend of thine;
We're seeking for sweet Jesus Christ,
To be our guide and thine."
"Go down, go down, to yonder town,And sit in the gallery,And there you'll see sweet Jesus ChristNailed to a big yew-tree."
"Go down, go down, to yonder town,
And sit in the gallery,
And there you'll see sweet Jesus Christ
Nailed to a big yew-tree."
So down they went to yonder townAs fast as foot could fall,And many a grievous bitter tearFrom the virgins' eyes did fall.
So down they went to yonder town
As fast as foot could fall,
And many a grievous bitter tear
From the virgins' eyes did fall.
"O peace, Mother, O peace, Mother,Your weeping doth me grieve:I must suffer this," He said,"For Adam and for Eve."
"O peace, Mother, O peace, Mother,
Your weeping doth me grieve:
I must suffer this," He said,
"For Adam and for Eve."
"O Mother, take you John EvangelistAll for to be your son,And he will comfort you sometimes,Mother, as I have done."
"O Mother, take you John Evangelist
All for to be your son,
And he will comfort you sometimes,
Mother, as I have done."
"O come, thou John Evangelist,Thou'rt welcome unto me;But more welcome my own dear Son,Whom I nursèd on my knee."
"O come, thou John Evangelist,
Thou'rt welcome unto me;
But more welcome my own dear Son,
Whom I nursèd on my knee."
Then he laid his head on His right shoulder,Seeing death it struck Him nigh—"The Holy Ghost be with your soul,I die, Mother dear, I die."...
Then he laid his head on His right shoulder,
Seeing death it struck Him nigh—
"The Holy Ghost be with your soul,
I die, Mother dear, I die."...
480
LULLY, LULLAYLully, lullay, lully, lullay;The fawcon hath born my make[208]away.He bare hym up, he bare hym down,He bare hym in to an orchard browne.In that orchard there was an halleThat was hangid with purpill and pall.And in that hall there was a bede,[209]Hit was hangid with gold so rede.And yn that bede there lythe a knyght,His woundis bledying day and nyght.By that bede side kneleth a may,And she wepeth both nyght and day.And by that bedde side there stondith a ston,Corpus Christiwretyn ther'on.
Lully, lullay, lully, lullay;The fawcon hath born my make[208]away.He bare hym up, he bare hym down,He bare hym in to an orchard browne.In that orchard there was an halleThat was hangid with purpill and pall.And in that hall there was a bede,[209]Hit was hangid with gold so rede.And yn that bede there lythe a knyght,His woundis bledying day and nyght.By that bede side kneleth a may,And she wepeth both nyght and day.And by that bedde side there stondith a ston,Corpus Christiwretyn ther'on.
Lully, lullay, lully, lullay;The fawcon hath born my make[208]away.
Lully, lullay, lully, lullay;
The fawcon hath born my make[208]away.
He bare hym up, he bare hym down,He bare hym in to an orchard browne.
He bare hym up, he bare hym down,
He bare hym in to an orchard browne.
In that orchard there was an halleThat was hangid with purpill and pall.
In that orchard there was an halle
That was hangid with purpill and pall.
And in that hall there was a bede,[209]Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And in that hall there was a bede,[209]
Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And yn that bede there lythe a knyght,His woundis bledying day and nyght.
And yn that bede there lythe a knyght,
His woundis bledying day and nyght.
By that bede side kneleth a may,And she wepeth both nyght and day.
By that bede side kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both nyght and day.
And by that bedde side there stondith a ston,Corpus Christiwretyn ther'on.
And by that bedde side there stondith a ston,
Corpus Christiwretyn ther'on.
481
BALME... There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,Whereof great vertues over all were red:[210]For happie life to all, which thereon fed,And life eke everlasting did befall:Great God it planted in that blessed stedWith his almightie hand, and did it callThe tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall.In all the world like was not to be found,Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,As incorrupted Nature did them sow,Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did knowBoth good and ill: O mornefull memory:That tree through one man's fault hath doen us all to dy.From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraineAnd daintie deare, which on the ground still fell,And overflowèd all the fertill plaine,And it had deawèd bene with timely raine:Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againeThe senselesse corse appointed for the grave.Into that same he fell: which did from death him save....Edmund Spenser
... There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,Whereof great vertues over all were red:[210]For happie life to all, which thereon fed,And life eke everlasting did befall:Great God it planted in that blessed stedWith his almightie hand, and did it callThe tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall.In all the world like was not to be found,Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,As incorrupted Nature did them sow,Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did knowBoth good and ill: O mornefull memory:That tree through one man's fault hath doen us all to dy.From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraineAnd daintie deare, which on the ground still fell,And overflowèd all the fertill plaine,And it had deawèd bene with timely raine:Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againeThe senselesse corse appointed for the grave.Into that same he fell: which did from death him save....Edmund Spenser
... There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,Whereof great vertues over all were red:[210]For happie life to all, which thereon fed,And life eke everlasting did befall:Great God it planted in that blessed stedWith his almightie hand, and did it callThe tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall.
... There grew a goodly tree him faire beside,
Loaden with fruit and apples rosie red,
As they in pure vermilion had beene dide,
Whereof great vertues over all were red:[210]
For happie life to all, which thereon fed,
And life eke everlasting did befall:
Great God it planted in that blessed sted
With his almightie hand, and did it call
The tree of life, the crime of our first father's fall.
In all the world like was not to be found,Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,As incorrupted Nature did them sow,Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did knowBoth good and ill: O mornefull memory:That tree through one man's fault hath doen us all to dy.
In all the world like was not to be found,
Save in that soile, where all good things did grow,
And freely sprong out of the fruitfull ground,
As incorrupted Nature did them sow,
Till that dread Dragon all did overthrow.
Another like faire tree eke grew thereby,
Whereof who so did eat, eftsoones did know
Both good and ill: O mornefull memory:
That tree through one man's fault hath doen us all to dy.
From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraineAnd daintie deare, which on the ground still fell,And overflowèd all the fertill plaine,And it had deawèd bene with timely raine:Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againeThe senselesse corse appointed for the grave.Into that same he fell: which did from death him save....Edmund Spenser
From that first tree forth flowd, as from a well,
A trickling streame of Balme, most soveraine
And daintie deare, which on the ground still fell,
And overflowèd all the fertill plaine,
And it had deawèd bene with timely raine:
Life and long health that gratious ointment gave,
And deadly woundes could heale, and reare againe
The senselesse corse appointed for the grave.
Into that same he fell: which did from death him save....
Edmund Spenser
482
MY MASTER HATH A GARDENMy master hath a garden, full-filled with divers flowers,Where thou may'st gather posies gay, all times and hours,Here nought is heardBut paradise-bird,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.Oh! Jesus, Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete,Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, true, fair and neatThat I may hearThis music clear,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.
My master hath a garden, full-filled with divers flowers,Where thou may'st gather posies gay, all times and hours,Here nought is heardBut paradise-bird,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.Oh! Jesus, Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete,Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, true, fair and neatThat I may hearThis music clear,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.
My master hath a garden, full-filled with divers flowers,Where thou may'st gather posies gay, all times and hours,Here nought is heardBut paradise-bird,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.
My master hath a garden, full-filled with divers flowers,
Where thou may'st gather posies gay, all times and hours,
Here nought is heard
But paradise-bird,
Harp, dulcimer, and lute,
With cymbal,
And timbrel,
And the gentle sounding flute.
Oh! Jesus, Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete,Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, true, fair and neatThat I may hearThis music clear,Harp, dulcimer, and lute,With cymbal,And timbrel,And the gentle sounding flute.
Oh! Jesus, Lord, my heal and weal, my bliss complete,
Make thou my heart thy garden-plot, true, fair and neat
That I may hear
This music clear,
Harp, dulcimer, and lute,
With cymbal,
And timbrel,
And the gentle sounding flute.
483
THIS IS THE KEYThis is the Key of the Kingdom:In that Kingdom is a city;In that city is a town;In that town there is a street;In that street there winds a lane;In that lane there is a yard;In that yard there is a house;In that house there waits a room;In that room an empty bed;And on that bed a basket—A Basket of Sweet Flowers:Of Flowers, of Flowers;A Basket of Sweet Flowers.Flowers in a Basket;Basket on the bed;Bed in the chamber;Chamber in the house;House in the weedy yard;Yard in the winding lane;Lane in the broad street;Street in the high town;Town in the city;City in the Kingdom—This is the Key of the Kingdom;Of the Kingdom this is the Key.
This is the Key of the Kingdom:In that Kingdom is a city;In that city is a town;In that town there is a street;In that street there winds a lane;In that lane there is a yard;In that yard there is a house;In that house there waits a room;In that room an empty bed;And on that bed a basket—A Basket of Sweet Flowers:Of Flowers, of Flowers;A Basket of Sweet Flowers.Flowers in a Basket;Basket on the bed;Bed in the chamber;Chamber in the house;House in the weedy yard;Yard in the winding lane;Lane in the broad street;Street in the high town;Town in the city;City in the Kingdom—This is the Key of the Kingdom;Of the Kingdom this is the Key.
This is the Key of the Kingdom:In that Kingdom is a city;In that city is a town;In that town there is a street;In that street there winds a lane;In that lane there is a yard;In that yard there is a house;In that house there waits a room;In that room an empty bed;And on that bed a basket—A Basket of Sweet Flowers:Of Flowers, of Flowers;A Basket of Sweet Flowers.
This is the Key of the Kingdom:
In that Kingdom is a city;
In that city is a town;
In that town there is a street;
In that street there winds a lane;
In that lane there is a yard;
In that yard there is a house;
In that house there waits a room;
In that room an empty bed;
And on that bed a basket—
A Basket of Sweet Flowers:
Of Flowers, of Flowers;
A Basket of Sweet Flowers.
Flowers in a Basket;Basket on the bed;Bed in the chamber;Chamber in the house;House in the weedy yard;Yard in the winding lane;Lane in the broad street;Street in the high town;Town in the city;City in the Kingdom—This is the Key of the Kingdom;Of the Kingdom this is the Key.
Flowers in a Basket;
Basket on the bed;
Bed in the chamber;
Chamber in the house;
House in the weedy yard;
Yard in the winding lane;
Lane in the broad street;
Street in the high town;
Town in the city;
City in the Kingdom—
This is the Key of the Kingdom;
Of the Kingdom this is the Key.