In the month of the long decline of rosesI, beholding the summer dead before me,Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,Gazing eagerly where above the sea-markFlame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lionsHalf divided the eyelids of the sunset;Till I heard as it were a noise of watersMoving tremulous under feet of angelsMultitudinous, out of all the heavens;Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;Heard between them a voice of exultation,"Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,Even like as a leaf the year is withered,All the fruits of the day from all her branchesGathered, neither is any left to gather.All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,All are taken away; the season wasted,Like an ember among the fallen ashes.Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),Woven under the eyes of stars and planetsWhen low light was upon the windy reachesWhere the flower of foam was blown, a lilyDropt among the sonorous fruitless furrowsAnd green fields of the sea that make no pasture:Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,All whose flowers are tears, and round his templesIron blossom of frost is bound for ever."
In the month of the long decline of rosesI, beholding the summer dead before me,Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,Gazing eagerly where above the sea-markFlame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lionsHalf divided the eyelids of the sunset;Till I heard as it were a noise of watersMoving tremulous under feet of angelsMultitudinous, out of all the heavens;Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;Heard between them a voice of exultation,"Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,Even like as a leaf the year is withered,All the fruits of the day from all her branchesGathered, neither is any left to gather.All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,All are taken away; the season wasted,Like an ember among the fallen ashes.Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),Woven under the eyes of stars and planetsWhen low light was upon the windy reachesWhere the flower of foam was blown, a lilyDropt among the sonorous fruitless furrowsAnd green fields of the sea that make no pasture:Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,All whose flowers are tears, and round his templesIron blossom of frost is bound for ever."
All the night sleep came not upon my eyelids,Shed not dew, nor shook nor unclosed a feather,Yet with lips shut close and with eyes of ironStood and beheld me.Then to me so lying awake a visionCame without sleep over the seas and touched me,Softly touched mine eyelids and lips; and I too,Full of the vision,Saw the white implacable Aphrodite,Saw the hair unbound and the feet unsandalledShine as fire of sunset on western waters;Saw the reluctantFeet, the straining plumes of the doves that drew her,Looking always, looking with necks reverted,Back to Lesbos, back to the hills whereunderShone Mitylene;Heard the flying feet of the Loves behind herMake a sudden thunder upon the waters,As the thunder flung from the strong unclosingWings of a great wind.So the goddess fled from her place, with awfulSound of feet and thunder of wings around her;While behind a clamour of singing womenSevered the twilight.Ah the singing, ah the delight, the passion!All the Loves wept, listening; sick with anguish,Stood the crowned nine Muses about Apollo;Fear was upon them,While the tenth sang wonderful things they knew not.Ah the tenth, the Lesbian! the nine were silent,None endured the sound of her song for weeping;Laurel by laurel,Faded all their crowns; but about her forehead,Round her woven tresses and ashen templesWhite as dead snow, paler than grass in summer,Ravaged with kisses,Shone a light of fire as a crown for ever.Yea, almost the implacable AphroditePaused, and almost wept; such a song was that song.Yea, by her name tooCalled her, saying, "Turn to me, O my Sappho;"Yet she turned her face from the Loves, she saw notTears for laughter darken immortal eyelids,Heard not about herFearful fitful wings of the doves departing,Saw not how the bosom of AphroditeShook with weeping, saw not her shaken raiment,Saw not her hands wrung;Saw the Lesbians kissing across their smittenLutes with lips more sweet than the sound of lute-strings,Mouth to mouth and hand upon hand, her chosen,Fairer than all men;Only saw the beautiful lips and fingers,Full of songs and kisses and little whispers,Full of music; only beheld among themSoar, as a bird soarsNewly fledged, her visible song, a marvel,Made of perfect sound and exceeding passion,Sweetly shapen, terrible, full of thunders,Clothed with the wind's wings.Then rejoiced she, laughing with love, and scatteredRoses, awful roses of holy blossom;Then the Loves thronged sadly with hidden facesRound Aphrodite,Then the Muses, stricken at heart, were silent;Yea, the gods waxed pale; such a song was that song.All reluctant, all with a fresh repulsion,Fled from before her.All withdrew long since, and the land was barren,Full of fruitless women and music only.Now perchance, when winds are assuaged at sunset,Lulled at the dewfall,By the grey sea-side, unassuaged, unheard of,Unbeloved, unseen in the ebb of twilight,Ghosts of outcast women return lamenting,Purged not in Lethe,Clothed about with flame and with tears, and singingSongs that move the heart of the shaken heaven,Songs that break the heart of the earth with pity,Hearing, to hear them.
All the night sleep came not upon my eyelids,Shed not dew, nor shook nor unclosed a feather,Yet with lips shut close and with eyes of ironStood and beheld me.
Then to me so lying awake a visionCame without sleep over the seas and touched me,Softly touched mine eyelids and lips; and I too,Full of the vision,
Saw the white implacable Aphrodite,Saw the hair unbound and the feet unsandalledShine as fire of sunset on western waters;Saw the reluctant
Feet, the straining plumes of the doves that drew her,Looking always, looking with necks reverted,Back to Lesbos, back to the hills whereunderShone Mitylene;
Heard the flying feet of the Loves behind herMake a sudden thunder upon the waters,As the thunder flung from the strong unclosingWings of a great wind.
So the goddess fled from her place, with awfulSound of feet and thunder of wings around her;While behind a clamour of singing womenSevered the twilight.
Ah the singing, ah the delight, the passion!All the Loves wept, listening; sick with anguish,Stood the crowned nine Muses about Apollo;Fear was upon them,
While the tenth sang wonderful things they knew not.Ah the tenth, the Lesbian! the nine were silent,None endured the sound of her song for weeping;Laurel by laurel,
Faded all their crowns; but about her forehead,Round her woven tresses and ashen templesWhite as dead snow, paler than grass in summer,Ravaged with kisses,
Shone a light of fire as a crown for ever.Yea, almost the implacable AphroditePaused, and almost wept; such a song was that song.Yea, by her name too
Called her, saying, "Turn to me, O my Sappho;"Yet she turned her face from the Loves, she saw notTears for laughter darken immortal eyelids,Heard not about her
Fearful fitful wings of the doves departing,Saw not how the bosom of AphroditeShook with weeping, saw not her shaken raiment,Saw not her hands wrung;
Saw the Lesbians kissing across their smittenLutes with lips more sweet than the sound of lute-strings,Mouth to mouth and hand upon hand, her chosen,Fairer than all men;
Only saw the beautiful lips and fingers,Full of songs and kisses and little whispers,Full of music; only beheld among themSoar, as a bird soars
Newly fledged, her visible song, a marvel,Made of perfect sound and exceeding passion,Sweetly shapen, terrible, full of thunders,Clothed with the wind's wings.
Then rejoiced she, laughing with love, and scatteredRoses, awful roses of holy blossom;Then the Loves thronged sadly with hidden facesRound Aphrodite,
Then the Muses, stricken at heart, were silent;Yea, the gods waxed pale; such a song was that song.All reluctant, all with a fresh repulsion,Fled from before her.
All withdrew long since, and the land was barren,Full of fruitless women and music only.Now perchance, when winds are assuaged at sunset,Lulled at the dewfall,
By the grey sea-side, unassuaged, unheard of,Unbeloved, unseen in the ebb of twilight,Ghosts of outcast women return lamenting,Purged not in Lethe,
Clothed about with flame and with tears, and singingSongs that move the heart of the shaken heaven,Songs that break the heart of the earth with pity,Hearing, to hear them.
Men of Eleusis, ye that with long stavesSit in the market-houses, and speak wordsMade sweet with wisdom as the rare wine isThickened with honey; and ye sons of theseWho in the glad thick streets go up and downFor pastime or grave traffic or mere chance;And all fair women having rings of goldOn hands or hair; and chiefest over theseI name you, daughters of this man the king,Who dipping deep smooth pitchers of pure brassUnder the bubbled wells, till each round lipStooped with loose gurgle of waters incoming,Found me an old sick woman, lamed and lean,Beside a growth of builded olive-boughsWhence multiplied thick song of thick-plumed throats—Also wet tears filled up my hollow handsBy reason of my crying into them—And pitied me; for as cold water ranAnd washed the pitchers full from lip to lip,So washed both eyes full the strong salt of tears.And ye put water to my mouth, made sweetWith brown hill-berries; so in time I spokeAnd gathered my loose knees from under me.Moreover in the broad fair halls this monthHave I found space and bountiful abodeTo please me. I Demeter speak of this,Who am the mother and the mate of things:For as ill men by drugs or singing wordsShut the doors inward of the narrowed wombLike a lock bolted with round iron through,Thus I shut up the body and sweet mouthOf all soft pasture and the tender land,So that no seed can enter in by itThough one sow thickly, nor some grain get outPast the hard clods men cleave and bite with steelTo widen the sealed lips of them for use.None of you is there in the peopled streetBut knows how all the dry-drawn furrows acheWith no green spot made count of in the black:How the wind finds no comfortable grassNor is assuaged with bud nor breath of herbs;And in hot autumn when ye house the stacks,All fields are helpless in the sun, all treesStand as a man stripped out of all but skin.Nevertheless ye sick have help to getBy means and stablished ordinance of God;For God is wiser than a good man is.But never shall new grass be sweet in earthTill I get righted of my wound and wrongBy changing counsel of ill-minded Zeus.For of all other gods is none save meClothed with like power to build and break the year.I make the lesser green begin, when springTouches not earth but with one fearful foot;And as a careful gilder with grave artSoberly colours and completes the face,Mouth, chin and all, of some sweet work in stone,I carve the shapes of grass and tender cornAnd colour the ripe edges and long spikesWith the red increase and the grace of gold,No tradesman in soft wools is cunningerTo kill the secret of the fat white fleeceWith stains of blue and purple wrought in it.Three moons were made and three moons burnt awayWhile I held journey hither out of CreteComfortless, tended by grave HecateWhom my wound stung with double iron point;For all my face was like a cloth wrung outWith close and weeping wrinkles, and both lidsSodden with salt continuance of tears.For Hades and the sidelong will of ZeusAnd that lame wisdom that has writhen feet,Cunning, begotten in the bed of Shame,These three took evil will at me, and madeSuch counsel that when time got wing to flyThis Hades out of summer and low fieldsForced the bright body of Persephone:Out of pure grass, where she lying down, red flowersMade their sharp little shadows on her sides,Pale heat, pale colour on pale maiden flesh—And chill water slid over her reddening feet,Killing the throbs in their soft blood; and birds,Perched next her elbow and pecking at her hair,Stretched their necks more to see her than even to sing.A sharp thing is it I have need to say;For Hades holding both white wrists of hersUnloosed the girdle and with knot by knotBound her between his wheels upon the seat,Bound her pure body, holiest yet and dearTo me and God as always, clothed aboutWith blossoms loosened as her knees went down.Let fall as she let go of this and thisBy tens and twenties, tumbled to her feet,White waifs or purple of the pasturage.Therefore with only going up and downMy feet were wasted, and the gracious air,To me discomfortable and dun, becameAs weak smoke blowing in the under world.And finding in the process of ill daysWhat part had Zeus herein, and how as mateHe coped with Hades, yokefellow in sin,I set my lips against the meat of godsAnd drank not neither ate or slept in heaven.Nor in the golden greeting of their mouthsDid ear take note of me, nor eye at allTrack my feet going in the ways of them.Like a great fire on some strait slip of landBetween two washing inlets of wet seaThat burns the grass up to each lip of beachAnd strengthens, waxing in the growth of wind,So burnt my soul in me at heaven and earth,Each way a ruin and a hungry plague,Visible evil; nor could any nightPut cool between mine eyelids, nor the sunWith competence of gold fill out my want.Yea so my flame burnt up the grass and stones,Shone to the salt-white edges of thin sea,Distempered all the gracious work, and madeSick change, unseasonable increase of daysAnd scant avail of seasons; for by thisThe fair gods faint in hollow heaven: there comesNo taste of burnings of the twofold fatTo leave their palates smooth, nor in their lipsSoft rings of smoke and weak scent wandering;All cattle waste and rot, and their ill smellGrows alway from the lank unsavoury fleshThat no man slays for offering; the seaAnd waters moved beneath the heath and cornPreserve the people of fin-twinkling fish,And river-flies feed thick upon the smooth;But all earth over is no man or bird(Except the sweet race of the kingfisher)That lacks not and is wearied with much loss.Meantime the purple inward of the houseWas softened with all grace of scent and soundIn ear and nostril perfecting my praise;Faint grape-flowers and cloven honey-cakeAnd the just grain with dues of the shed saltMade me content: yet my hand loosened notIts gripe upon your harvest all year long.While I, thus woman-muffled in wan fleshAnd waste externals of a perished face,Preserved the levels of my wrath and lovePatiently ruled; and with soft officesCooled the sharp noons and busied the warm nightsIn care of this my choice, this child my choice,Triptolemus, the king's selected son:That this fair yearlong body, which hath grownStrong with strange milk upon the mortal lipAnd nerved with half a god, might so increaseOutside the bulk and the bare scope of man:And waxen over large to hold withinBase breath of yours and this impoverished air,I might exalt him past the flame of stars,The limit and walled reach of the great world.Therefore my breast made common to his mouthImmortal savours, and the taste whereatTwice their hard life strains out the coloured veinsAnd twice its brain confirms the narrow shell.Also at night, unwinding cloth from clothAs who unhusks an almond to the whiteAnd pastures curiously the purer taste,I bared the gracious limbs and the soft feet,Unswaddled the weak hands, and in mid ashLaid the sweet flesh of either feeble side,More tender for impressure of some touchThan wax to any pen; and lit aroundFire, and made crawl the white worm-shapen flame,And leap in little angers spark by sparkAt head at once and feet; and the faint hairHissed with rare sprinkles in the closer curl,And like scaled oarage of a keen thin fishIn sea-water, so in pure fire his feetStruck out, and the flame bit not in his flesh,But like a kiss it curled his lip, and heatFluttered his eyelids; so each night I blewThe hot ash red to purge him to full god.Ill is it when fear hungers in the soulFor painful food, and chokes thereon, being fed;And ill slant eyes interpret the straight sun,But in their scope its white is wried to black:By the queen Metaneira mean I this;For with sick wrath upon her lips, and heartNarrowing with fear the spleenful passages,She thought to thread this web's fine ravel out,Nor leave her shuttle split in combing it;Therefore she stole on us, and with hard sightPeered, and stooped close; then with pale open mouthAs the fire smote her in the eyes betweenCried, and the child's laugh, sharply shorteningAs fire doth under rain, fell off; the flameWrithed once all through and died, and in thick darkTears fell from mine on the child's weeping eyes,Eyes dispossessed of strong inheritanceAnd mortal fallen anew. Who not the lessFrom bud of beard to pale-grey flower of hairShall wax vinewise to a lordly vine, whose grapesBleed the red heavy blood of swoln soft wine,Subtle with sharp leaves' intricacy, untilFull of white years and blossom of hoary daysI take him perfected; for whose one sakeI am thus gracious to the least who standsFilleted with white wool and girt uponAs he whose prayer endures upon the lipAnd falls not waste: wherefore let sacrificeBurn and run red in all the wider ways;Seeing I have sworn by the pale temples' bandAnd poppied hair of gold PersephoneSad-tressed and pleached low down about her brows,And by the sorrow in her lips, and deathHer dumb and mournful-mouthèd minister,My word for you is eased of its harsh weightAnd doubled with soft promise; and your kingTriptolemus, this Celeus dead and swathedPurple and pale for golden burial,Shall be your helper in my services,Dividing earth and reaping fruits thereofIn fields where wait, well-girt, well-wreathen, allThe heavy-handed seasons all year through;Saving the choice of warm spear-headed grain,And stooping sharp to the slant-sided shareAll beasts that furrow the remeasured landWith their bowed necks of burden equable.
Men of Eleusis, ye that with long stavesSit in the market-houses, and speak wordsMade sweet with wisdom as the rare wine isThickened with honey; and ye sons of theseWho in the glad thick streets go up and downFor pastime or grave traffic or mere chance;And all fair women having rings of goldOn hands or hair; and chiefest over theseI name you, daughters of this man the king,Who dipping deep smooth pitchers of pure brassUnder the bubbled wells, till each round lipStooped with loose gurgle of waters incoming,Found me an old sick woman, lamed and lean,Beside a growth of builded olive-boughsWhence multiplied thick song of thick-plumed throats—Also wet tears filled up my hollow handsBy reason of my crying into them—And pitied me; for as cold water ranAnd washed the pitchers full from lip to lip,So washed both eyes full the strong salt of tears.And ye put water to my mouth, made sweetWith brown hill-berries; so in time I spokeAnd gathered my loose knees from under me.Moreover in the broad fair halls this monthHave I found space and bountiful abodeTo please me. I Demeter speak of this,Who am the mother and the mate of things:For as ill men by drugs or singing wordsShut the doors inward of the narrowed wombLike a lock bolted with round iron through,Thus I shut up the body and sweet mouthOf all soft pasture and the tender land,So that no seed can enter in by itThough one sow thickly, nor some grain get outPast the hard clods men cleave and bite with steelTo widen the sealed lips of them for use.None of you is there in the peopled streetBut knows how all the dry-drawn furrows acheWith no green spot made count of in the black:How the wind finds no comfortable grassNor is assuaged with bud nor breath of herbs;And in hot autumn when ye house the stacks,All fields are helpless in the sun, all treesStand as a man stripped out of all but skin.Nevertheless ye sick have help to getBy means and stablished ordinance of God;For God is wiser than a good man is.But never shall new grass be sweet in earthTill I get righted of my wound and wrongBy changing counsel of ill-minded Zeus.For of all other gods is none save meClothed with like power to build and break the year.I make the lesser green begin, when springTouches not earth but with one fearful foot;And as a careful gilder with grave artSoberly colours and completes the face,Mouth, chin and all, of some sweet work in stone,I carve the shapes of grass and tender cornAnd colour the ripe edges and long spikesWith the red increase and the grace of gold,No tradesman in soft wools is cunningerTo kill the secret of the fat white fleeceWith stains of blue and purple wrought in it.Three moons were made and three moons burnt awayWhile I held journey hither out of CreteComfortless, tended by grave HecateWhom my wound stung with double iron point;For all my face was like a cloth wrung outWith close and weeping wrinkles, and both lidsSodden with salt continuance of tears.For Hades and the sidelong will of ZeusAnd that lame wisdom that has writhen feet,Cunning, begotten in the bed of Shame,These three took evil will at me, and madeSuch counsel that when time got wing to flyThis Hades out of summer and low fieldsForced the bright body of Persephone:Out of pure grass, where she lying down, red flowersMade their sharp little shadows on her sides,Pale heat, pale colour on pale maiden flesh—And chill water slid over her reddening feet,Killing the throbs in their soft blood; and birds,Perched next her elbow and pecking at her hair,Stretched their necks more to see her than even to sing.A sharp thing is it I have need to say;For Hades holding both white wrists of hersUnloosed the girdle and with knot by knotBound her between his wheels upon the seat,Bound her pure body, holiest yet and dearTo me and God as always, clothed aboutWith blossoms loosened as her knees went down.Let fall as she let go of this and thisBy tens and twenties, tumbled to her feet,White waifs or purple of the pasturage.Therefore with only going up and downMy feet were wasted, and the gracious air,To me discomfortable and dun, becameAs weak smoke blowing in the under world.And finding in the process of ill daysWhat part had Zeus herein, and how as mateHe coped with Hades, yokefellow in sin,I set my lips against the meat of godsAnd drank not neither ate or slept in heaven.Nor in the golden greeting of their mouthsDid ear take note of me, nor eye at allTrack my feet going in the ways of them.Like a great fire on some strait slip of landBetween two washing inlets of wet seaThat burns the grass up to each lip of beachAnd strengthens, waxing in the growth of wind,So burnt my soul in me at heaven and earth,Each way a ruin and a hungry plague,Visible evil; nor could any nightPut cool between mine eyelids, nor the sunWith competence of gold fill out my want.Yea so my flame burnt up the grass and stones,Shone to the salt-white edges of thin sea,Distempered all the gracious work, and madeSick change, unseasonable increase of daysAnd scant avail of seasons; for by thisThe fair gods faint in hollow heaven: there comesNo taste of burnings of the twofold fatTo leave their palates smooth, nor in their lipsSoft rings of smoke and weak scent wandering;All cattle waste and rot, and their ill smellGrows alway from the lank unsavoury fleshThat no man slays for offering; the seaAnd waters moved beneath the heath and cornPreserve the people of fin-twinkling fish,And river-flies feed thick upon the smooth;But all earth over is no man or bird(Except the sweet race of the kingfisher)That lacks not and is wearied with much loss.Meantime the purple inward of the houseWas softened with all grace of scent and soundIn ear and nostril perfecting my praise;Faint grape-flowers and cloven honey-cakeAnd the just grain with dues of the shed saltMade me content: yet my hand loosened notIts gripe upon your harvest all year long.While I, thus woman-muffled in wan fleshAnd waste externals of a perished face,Preserved the levels of my wrath and lovePatiently ruled; and with soft officesCooled the sharp noons and busied the warm nightsIn care of this my choice, this child my choice,Triptolemus, the king's selected son:That this fair yearlong body, which hath grownStrong with strange milk upon the mortal lipAnd nerved with half a god, might so increaseOutside the bulk and the bare scope of man:And waxen over large to hold withinBase breath of yours and this impoverished air,I might exalt him past the flame of stars,The limit and walled reach of the great world.Therefore my breast made common to his mouthImmortal savours, and the taste whereatTwice their hard life strains out the coloured veinsAnd twice its brain confirms the narrow shell.Also at night, unwinding cloth from clothAs who unhusks an almond to the whiteAnd pastures curiously the purer taste,I bared the gracious limbs and the soft feet,Unswaddled the weak hands, and in mid ashLaid the sweet flesh of either feeble side,More tender for impressure of some touchThan wax to any pen; and lit aroundFire, and made crawl the white worm-shapen flame,And leap in little angers spark by sparkAt head at once and feet; and the faint hairHissed with rare sprinkles in the closer curl,And like scaled oarage of a keen thin fishIn sea-water, so in pure fire his feetStruck out, and the flame bit not in his flesh,But like a kiss it curled his lip, and heatFluttered his eyelids; so each night I blewThe hot ash red to purge him to full god.Ill is it when fear hungers in the soulFor painful food, and chokes thereon, being fed;And ill slant eyes interpret the straight sun,But in their scope its white is wried to black:By the queen Metaneira mean I this;For with sick wrath upon her lips, and heartNarrowing with fear the spleenful passages,She thought to thread this web's fine ravel out,Nor leave her shuttle split in combing it;Therefore she stole on us, and with hard sightPeered, and stooped close; then with pale open mouthAs the fire smote her in the eyes betweenCried, and the child's laugh, sharply shorteningAs fire doth under rain, fell off; the flameWrithed once all through and died, and in thick darkTears fell from mine on the child's weeping eyes,Eyes dispossessed of strong inheritanceAnd mortal fallen anew. Who not the lessFrom bud of beard to pale-grey flower of hairShall wax vinewise to a lordly vine, whose grapesBleed the red heavy blood of swoln soft wine,Subtle with sharp leaves' intricacy, untilFull of white years and blossom of hoary daysI take him perfected; for whose one sakeI am thus gracious to the least who standsFilleted with white wool and girt uponAs he whose prayer endures upon the lipAnd falls not waste: wherefore let sacrificeBurn and run red in all the wider ways;Seeing I have sworn by the pale temples' bandAnd poppied hair of gold PersephoneSad-tressed and pleached low down about her brows,And by the sorrow in her lips, and deathHer dumb and mournful-mouthèd minister,My word for you is eased of its harsh weightAnd doubled with soft promise; and your kingTriptolemus, this Celeus dead and swathedPurple and pale for golden burial,Shall be your helper in my services,Dividing earth and reaping fruits thereofIn fields where wait, well-girt, well-wreathen, allThe heavy-handed seasons all year through;Saving the choice of warm spear-headed grain,And stooping sharp to the slant-sided shareAll beasts that furrow the remeasured landWith their bowed necks of burden equable.
There were four apples on the bough,Half gold half red, that one might knowThe blood was ripe inside the core;The colour of the leaves was moreLike stems of yellow corn that growThrough all the gold June meadow's floor.The warm smell of the fruit was goodTo feed on, and the split green wood,With all its bearded lips and stainsOf mosses in the cloven veins,Most pleasant, if one lay or stoodIn sunshine or in happy rains.There were four apples on the tree,Red stained through gold, that all might seeThe sun went warm from core to rind;The green leaves made the summer blindIn that soft place they kept for meWith golden apples shut behind.The leaves caught gold across the sun,And where the bluest air begunThirsted for song to help the heat;As I to feel my lady's feetDraw close before the day were done;Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.In the mute August afternoonThey trembled to some undertuneOf music in the silver air;Great pleasure was it to be thereTill green turned duskier and the moonColoured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.That August time it was delightTo watch the red moons wane to white'Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;A sense of heavy harmoniesGrew on the growth of patient night,More sweet than shapen music is.But some three hours before the moonThe air, still eager from the noon,Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;Against the stem I leant my head;The colour soothed me like a tune,Green leaves all round the gold and red.I lay there till the warm smell grewMore sharp, when flecks of yellow dewBetween the round ripe leaves had blurredThe rind with stain and wet; I heardA wind that blew and breathed and blew,Too weak to alter its one word.The wet leaves next the gentle fruitFelt smoother, and the brown tree-rootFelt the mould warmer: I too felt(As water feels the slow gold meltRight through it when the day burns mute)The peace of time wherein love dwelt.There were four apples on the tree,Gold stained on red that all might seeThe sweet blood filled them to the core:The colour of her hair is moreLike stems of fair faint gold, that beMown from the harvest's middle floor.
There were four apples on the bough,Half gold half red, that one might knowThe blood was ripe inside the core;The colour of the leaves was moreLike stems of yellow corn that growThrough all the gold June meadow's floor.
The warm smell of the fruit was goodTo feed on, and the split green wood,With all its bearded lips and stainsOf mosses in the cloven veins,Most pleasant, if one lay or stoodIn sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,Red stained through gold, that all might seeThe sun went warm from core to rind;The green leaves made the summer blindIn that soft place they kept for meWith golden apples shut behind.
The leaves caught gold across the sun,And where the bluest air begunThirsted for song to help the heat;As I to feel my lady's feetDraw close before the day were done;Both lips grew dry with dreams of it.
In the mute August afternoonThey trembled to some undertuneOf music in the silver air;Great pleasure was it to be thereTill green turned duskier and the moonColoured the corn-sheaves like gold hair.
That August time it was delightTo watch the red moons wane to white'Twixt grey seamed stems of apple-trees;A sense of heavy harmoniesGrew on the growth of patient night,More sweet than shapen music is.
But some three hours before the moonThe air, still eager from the noon,Flagged after heat, not wholly dead;Against the stem I leant my head;The colour soothed me like a tune,Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grewMore sharp, when flecks of yellow dewBetween the round ripe leaves had blurredThe rind with stain and wet; I heardA wind that blew and breathed and blew,Too weak to alter its one word.
The wet leaves next the gentle fruitFelt smoother, and the brown tree-rootFelt the mould warmer: I too felt(As water feels the slow gold meltRight through it when the day burns mute)The peace of time wherein love dwelt.
There were four apples on the tree,Gold stained on red that all might seeThe sweet blood filled them to the core:The colour of her hair is moreLike stems of fair faint gold, that beMown from the harvest's middle floor.
Three damsels in the queen's chamber,The queen's mouth was most fair;She spake a word of God's motherAs the combs went in her hair.Mary that is of might,Bring us to thy Son's sight.They held the gold combs out from her,A span's length off her head;She sang this song of God's motherAnd of her bearing-bed.Mary most full of grace,Bring us to thy Son's face.When she sat at Joseph's hand,She looked against her side;And either way from the short silk bandHer girdle was all wried.Mary that all good may,Bring us to thy Son's way.Mary had three women for her bed,The twain were maidens clean;The first of them had white and red,The third had riven green.Mary that is so sweet,Bring us to thy Son's feet.She had three women for her hair,Two were gloved soft and shod;The third had feet and fingers bare,She was the likest God.Mary that wieldeth land,Bring us to thy Son's hand.She had three women for her ease,The twain were good women:The first two were the two Maries,The third was Magdalen.Mary that perfect is,Bring us to thy Son's kiss.Joseph had three workmen in his stall,To serve him well upon;The first of them were Peter and Paul,The third of them was John.Mary, God's handmaiden,Bring us to thy Son's ken."If your child be none other man's,But if it be very mine,The bedstead shall be gold two spans,The bedfoot silver fine."Mary that made God mirth,Bring us to thy Son's birth."If the child be some other man's,And if it be none of mine,The manger shall be straw two spans,Betwixen kine and kine."Mary that made sin cease,Bring us to thy Son's peace.Christ was born upon this wise,It fell on such a night,Neither with sounds of psalteries,Nor with fire for light.Mary that is God's spouse,Bring us to thy Son's house.The star came out upon the eastWith a great sound and sweet:Kings gave gold to make him feastAnd myrrh for him to eat.Mary, of thy sweet mood,Bring us to thy Son's good.He had two handmaids at his head,One handmaid at his feet;The twain of them were fair and red,The third one was right sweet.Mary that is most wise,Bring us to thy Son's eyes. Amen.
Three damsels in the queen's chamber,The queen's mouth was most fair;She spake a word of God's motherAs the combs went in her hair.Mary that is of might,Bring us to thy Son's sight.
They held the gold combs out from her,A span's length off her head;She sang this song of God's motherAnd of her bearing-bed.Mary most full of grace,Bring us to thy Son's face.
When she sat at Joseph's hand,She looked against her side;And either way from the short silk bandHer girdle was all wried.Mary that all good may,Bring us to thy Son's way.
Mary had three women for her bed,The twain were maidens clean;The first of them had white and red,The third had riven green.Mary that is so sweet,Bring us to thy Son's feet.
She had three women for her hair,Two were gloved soft and shod;The third had feet and fingers bare,She was the likest God.Mary that wieldeth land,Bring us to thy Son's hand.
She had three women for her ease,The twain were good women:The first two were the two Maries,The third was Magdalen.Mary that perfect is,Bring us to thy Son's kiss.
Joseph had three workmen in his stall,To serve him well upon;The first of them were Peter and Paul,The third of them was John.Mary, God's handmaiden,Bring us to thy Son's ken.
"If your child be none other man's,But if it be very mine,The bedstead shall be gold two spans,The bedfoot silver fine."Mary that made God mirth,Bring us to thy Son's birth.
"If the child be some other man's,And if it be none of mine,The manger shall be straw two spans,Betwixen kine and kine."Mary that made sin cease,Bring us to thy Son's peace.
Christ was born upon this wise,It fell on such a night,Neither with sounds of psalteries,Nor with fire for light.Mary that is God's spouse,Bring us to thy Son's house.
The star came out upon the eastWith a great sound and sweet:Kings gave gold to make him feastAnd myrrh for him to eat.Mary, of thy sweet mood,Bring us to thy Son's good.
He had two handmaids at his head,One handmaid at his feet;The twain of them were fair and red,The third one was right sweet.Mary that is most wise,Bring us to thy Son's eyes. Amen.
KING DAVIDKnights mine, all that be in hall,I have a counsel to you all,Because of this thing God lets fallAmong us for a sign.For some days hence as I did eatFrom kingly dishes my good meat,There flew a bird between my feetAs red as any wine.This bird had a long bill of redAnd a gold ring above his head;Long time he sat and nothing said,Put softly down his neck and fedFrom the gilt patens fine:And as I marvelled, at the lastHe shut his two keen eyën fastAnd suddenly woxe big and brastEre one should tell to nine.PRIMUS MILESSir, note this that I will say;That Lord who maketh corn with hayAnd morrows each of yesterday,He hath you in his hand,SECUNDUS MILES (Paganus quidam)By Satan I hold no such thing;For if wine swell within a kingWhose ears for drink are hot and ring,The same shall dream of wine-bibbingWhilst he can lie or stand.QUEEN BERSABEPeace now, lords, for Godis head,Ye chirk as starlings that be fedAnd gape as fishes newly dead;The devil put your bones to bed,Lo, this is all to say.SECUNDUS MILESBy Mahound, lords, I have good willThis devil's bird to wring and spill;For now meseems our game goes ill,Ye have scant hearts to play.TERTIUS MILESLo, sirs, this word is there said,That Urias the knight is deadThrough some ill craft; by Poulis head,I doubt his blood hath made so redThis bird that flew from the queen's bedWhereof ye have such fear.KING DAVIDYea, my good knave, and is it saidThat I can raise men from the dead?By God I think to have his headWho saith words of my lady's bedFor any thief to hear.Et percutiat eum in capite.QUEEN BERSABEI wis men shall spit at me,And say, it were but right for theeThat one should hang thee on a tree;Ho! it were a fair thing to seeThe big stones bruise her false body;Fie! who shall see her dead?KING DAVIDI rede you have no fear of this,For, as ye wot, the first good kissI had must be the last of his;Now are ye queen of mine, I wis,And lady of a house that isFull rich of meat and bread.PRIMUS MILESI bid you make good cheer to beSo fair a queen as all men see.And hold us for your lieges free;By Peter's soul that hath the key,Ye have good hap of it.SECUNDUS MILESI would that he were hanged and deadWho hath no joy to see your headWith gold about it, barred on red;I hold him as a sow of leadThat is so scant of wit.Tunc dicatNATHANprophetaO king, I have a word to thee;The child that is in BersabeShall wither without light to see;This word is come of God by meFor sin that ye have done.Because herein ye did not right,To take the fair one lamb to smiteThat was of Urias the knight;Ye wist he had but one.Full many sheep I wot ye had,And many women, when ye bade,To do your will and keep you glad,And a good crown about your headWith gold to show thereon.This Urias had one poor houseWith low-barred latoun shot-windowsAnd scant of corn to fill a mouse;And rusty basnets for his brows,To wear them to the bone.Yea the roofs also, as men sain,Were thin to hold against the rain;Therefore what rushes were there lainGrew wet withouten foot of men;The stancheons were all gone in twainAs sick man's flesh is gone.Nathless he had great joy to seeThe long hair of this BersabeFall round her lap and round her kneeEven to her small soft feet, that beShod now with crimson royallyAnd covered with clean gold.Likewise great joy he had to kissHer throat, where now the scarlet isAgainst her little chin, I wis,That then was but cold.No scarlet then her kirtle hadAnd little gold about it sprad;But her red mouth was always gladTo kiss, albeit the eyes were sadWith love they had to hold.SECUNDUS MILESHow! old thief, thy wits are lame;To clip such it is no shame;I rede you in the devil's name,Ye come not here to make men game;By Termagaunt that maketh grame,I shall to-bete thine head.Hìc Diabolus capiat eum.This knave hath sharp fingers, perfay;Mahound you thank and keep alway,And give you good knees to pray;What man hath no lust to play,The devil wring his ears, I say;There is no more but wellaway,For now am I dead.KING DAVIDCertes his mouth is wried and black,Full little pence be in his sack;This devil hath him by the back,It is no boot to lie.NATHANSitteth now still and learn of me;A little while and ye shall seeThe face of God's strength presently.All queens made as this Bersabe,All that were fair and foul ye be,Come hither; it am I.Et hìc omnes cantabunt.HERODIASI am the queen Herodias.This headband of my temples wasKing Herod's gold band woven me.This broken dry staff in my handWas the queen's staff of a great landBetwixen Perse and Samarie.For that one dancing of my feet,The fire is come in my green wheat,From one sea to the other sea.AHOLIBAHI am the queen Aholibah.My lips kissed dumb the word ofAhSighed on strange lips grown sick thereby.God wrought to me my royal bed;The inner work thereof was red,The outer work was ivory.My mouth's heat was the heat of flameFor lust towards the kings that cameWith horsemen riding royally.CLEOPATRAI am the queen of Ethiope.Love bade my kissing eyelids opeThat men beholding might praise love.My hair was wonderful and curled;My lips held fast the mouth o' the worldTo spoil the strength and speech thereof.The latter triumph in my breathBowed down the beaten brows of death,Ashamed they had not wrath enough.ABIHAILI am the queen of Tyrians.My hair was glorious for twelve spans,That dried to loose dust afterward.My stature was a strong man's length:My neck was like a place of strengthBuilt with white walls, even and hard,Like the first noise of rain leaves catchOne from another, snatch by snatch,Is my praise, hissed against and marred.AZUBAHI am the queen of Amorites.My face was like a place of lightsWith multitudes at festival.The glory of my gracious browsWas like God's house made gloriousWith colours upon either wall.Between my brows and hair there wasA white space like a space of glassWith golden candles over all.AHOLAHI am the queen of Amalek.There was no tender touch or fleckTo spoil my body or bared feet.My words were soft like dulcimers,And the first sweet of grape-flowersMade each side of my bosom sweet.My raiment was as tender fruitWhose rind smells sweet of spice-tree root,Bruised balm-blossom and budded wheat.AHINOAMI am the queen Ahinoam.Like the throat of a soft slain lambWas my throat, softer veined than his:My lips were as two grapes the sunLays his whole weight of heat uponLike a mouth heavy with a kiss:My hair's pure purple a wrought fleece,My temples therein as a pieceOf a pomegranate's cleaving is.ATARAHI am the queen Sidonian.My face made faint the face of man,And strength was bound between my browsSpikenard was hidden in my ships,Honey and wheat and myrrh in strips,White wools that shine as colour does,Soft linen dyed upon the fold,Split spice and cores of scented gold,Cedar and broken calamus.SEMIRAMISI am the queen Semiramis.The whole world and the sea that isIn fashion like a chrysopras,The noise of all men labouring,The priest's mouth tired through thanksgiving,The sound of love in the blood's pause,The strength of love in the blood's beat,All these were cast beneath my feetAnd all found lesser than I was.HESIONEI am the queen Hesione.The seasons that increased in meMade my face fairer than all men's.I had the summer in my hair;And all the pale gold autumn airWas as the habit of my sense.My body was as fire that shone;God's beauty that makes all things oneWas one among my handmaidens.CHRYSOTHEMISI am the queen of Samothrace.God, making roses, made my faceAs a rose filled up full with red.My prows made sharp the straitened seasFrom Pontus to that ChersoneseWhereon the ebbed Asian stream is shed.My hair was as sweet scent that drips;Love's breath begun about my lipsKindled the lips of people dead.THOMYRISI am the queen of Scythians.My strength was like no strength of man's,My face like day, my breast like spring.My fame was felt in the extreme landThat hath sunshine on the one handAnd on the other star-shining.Yea, and the wind there fails of breath;Yea, and there life is waste like death;Yea, and there death is a glad thing.HARHASI am the queen of Anakim.In the spent years whose speech is dim,Whose raiment is the dust and death,My stately body without stainShone as the shining race of rainWhose hair a great wind scattereth.Now hath God turned my lips to sighs,Plucked off mine eyelids from mine eyes,And sealed with seals my way of breath.MYRRHAI am the queen Arabian.The tears wherewith mine eyelids ranSmelt like my perfumed eyelids' smell.A harsh thirst made my soft mouth hard,That ached with kisses afterward;My brain rang like a beaten bell.As tears on eyes, as fire on wood,Sin fed upon my breath and blood,Sin made my breasts subside and swell.PASIPHAEI am the queen Pasiphae.Not all the pure clean-coloured seaCould cleanse or cool my yearning veins;Nor any root nor herb that grew,Flag-leaves that let green water through,Nor washing of the dews and rains.From shame's pressed core I wrung the sweetFruit's savour that was death to eat,Whereof no seed but death remains.SAPPHOI am the queen of Lesbians.My love, that had no part in man's,Was sweeter than all shape of sweet.The intolerable infinite desireMade my face pale like faded fireWhen the ashen pyre falls through with heat.My blood was hot wan wine of love,And my song's sound the sound thereof,The sound of the delight of it.MESSALINAI am the queen of Italy.These were the signs God set on me;A barren beauty subtle and sleek,Curled carven hair, and cheeks worn wanWith fierce false lips of many a man,Large temples where the blood ran weak,A mouth athirst and amorousAnd hungering as the grave's mouth doesThat, being an-hungred, cannot speak.AMESTRISI am the queen of Persians.My breasts were lordlier than bright swans.My body as amber fair and thin.Strange flesh was given my lips for bread,With poisonous hours my days were fed,And my feet shod with adder-skin.In Shushan toward EcbataneI wrought my joys with tears and pain,My loves with blood and bitter sin.EPHRATHI am the queen of Rephaim.God, that some while refraineth him,Made in the end a spoil of me.My rumour was upon the worldAs strong sound of swoln water hurledThrough porches of the straining sea.My hair was like the flag-flower,And my breasts carven goodlierThan beryl with chalcedony.PASITHEAI am the queen of Cypriotes.Mine oarsmen, labouring with brown throats,Sang of me many a tender thing.My maidens, girdled loose and bracedWith gold from bosom to white waist,Praised me between their wool-combing.All that praise Venus all night longWith lips like speech and lids like songPraised me till song lost heart to sing.ALACIELI am the queen Alaciel.My mouth was like that moist gold cellWhereout the thickest honey drips.Mine eyes were as a grey-green sea;The amorous blood that smote on meSmote to my feet and finger-tips.My throat was whiter than the dove,Mine eyelids as the seals of love,And as the doors of love my lips.ERIGONEI am the queen Erigone.The wild wine shed as blood on meMade my face brighter than a bride's.My large lips had the old thirst of earth,Mine arms the might of the old sea's girthBound round the whole world's iron sides.Within mine eyes and in mine earsWere music and the wine of tears,And light, and thunder of the tides.Et hìc exeant, et dicat Bersabe regina;Alas, God, for thy great pityAnd for the might that is in thee,Behold, I woful BersabeCry out with stoopings of my kneeAnd thy wrath laid and bound on meTill I may see thy love.Behold, Lord, this child is grownWithin me between bone and boneTo make me mother of a son,Made of my body with strong moan;There shall not be another oneThat shall be made hereof.KING DAVIDLord God, alas, what shall I sain?Lo, thou art as an hundred menBoth to break and build again:The wild ways thou makest plain,Thine hands hold the hail and rain,And thy fingers both grape and grain;Of their largess we be all well fain,And of their great pity:The sun thou madest of good gold,Of clean silver the moon cold,All the great stars thou hast toldAs thy cattle in thy foldEvery one by his name of old;Wind and water thou hast in hold,Both the land and the long sea;Both the green sea and the land,Lord God, thou hast in hand,Both white water and grey sand;Upon thy right or thy left handThere is no man that may stand;Lord, thou rue on me.O wise Lord, if thou be keenTo note things amiss that been,I am not worth a shell of beanMore than an old mare meagre and lean;For all my wrong-doing with my queen,It grew not of our heartès clean,But it began of her body.For it fell in the hot MayI stood within a paven wayBuilt of fair bright stone, perfay,That is as fire of night and dayAnd lighteth all my house.Therein be neither stones nor sticks,Neither red nor white bricks,But for cubits five or sixThere is most goodly sardonyxAnd amber laid in rows.It goes round about my roofs,(If ye list ye shall have proofs)There is good space for horse and hoofs,Plain and nothing perilous.For the fair green weather's heat,And for the smell of leavès sweet,It is no marvel, well ye weet,A man to waxen amorous.This I say now by my caseThat spied forth of that royal place;There I saw in no great spaceMine own sweet, both body and face,Under the fresh boughs.In a water that was thereShe wesshe her goodly body bareAnd dried it with her owen hair:Both her arms and her knees fair,Both bosom and brows;Both shoulders and eke thighsTho she wesshe upon this wise;Ever she sighed with little sighs,And ever she gave God thank.Yea, God wot I can well see yetBoth her breast and her sides all wetAnd her long hair withouten letSpread sideways like a drawing net;Full dear bought and full far fetWas that sweet thing there y-set;It were a hard thing to forgetHow both lips and eyen met,Breast and breath sank.So goodly a sight as there she was,Lying looking on her glassBy wan water in green grass,Yet saw never man.So soft and great she was and brightWith all her body waxen white,I woxe nigh blind to see the lightShed out of it to left and right;This bitter sin from that sweet sightBetween us twain began.NATHANNow, sir, be merry anon,For ye shall have a full wise son,Goodly and great of flesh and bone;There shall no king be such an one,I swear by Godis rood.Therefore, lord, be merry here,And go to meat withouten fear,And hear a mass with goodly cheer;For to all folk ye shall be dear,And all folk of your blood.Et tunc dicant Laudamus.
KING DAVID
Knights mine, all that be in hall,I have a counsel to you all,Because of this thing God lets fallAmong us for a sign.For some days hence as I did eatFrom kingly dishes my good meat,There flew a bird between my feetAs red as any wine.This bird had a long bill of redAnd a gold ring above his head;Long time he sat and nothing said,Put softly down his neck and fedFrom the gilt patens fine:And as I marvelled, at the lastHe shut his two keen eyën fastAnd suddenly woxe big and brastEre one should tell to nine.
PRIMUS MILES
Sir, note this that I will say;That Lord who maketh corn with hayAnd morrows each of yesterday,He hath you in his hand,
SECUNDUS MILES (Paganus quidam)
By Satan I hold no such thing;For if wine swell within a kingWhose ears for drink are hot and ring,The same shall dream of wine-bibbingWhilst he can lie or stand.
QUEEN BERSABE
Peace now, lords, for Godis head,Ye chirk as starlings that be fedAnd gape as fishes newly dead;The devil put your bones to bed,Lo, this is all to say.
SECUNDUS MILES
By Mahound, lords, I have good willThis devil's bird to wring and spill;For now meseems our game goes ill,Ye have scant hearts to play.
TERTIUS MILES
Lo, sirs, this word is there said,That Urias the knight is deadThrough some ill craft; by Poulis head,I doubt his blood hath made so redThis bird that flew from the queen's bedWhereof ye have such fear.
KING DAVID
Yea, my good knave, and is it saidThat I can raise men from the dead?By God I think to have his headWho saith words of my lady's bedFor any thief to hear.Et percutiat eum in capite.
QUEEN BERSABE
I wis men shall spit at me,And say, it were but right for theeThat one should hang thee on a tree;Ho! it were a fair thing to seeThe big stones bruise her false body;Fie! who shall see her dead?
KING DAVID
I rede you have no fear of this,For, as ye wot, the first good kissI had must be the last of his;Now are ye queen of mine, I wis,And lady of a house that isFull rich of meat and bread.
PRIMUS MILES
I bid you make good cheer to beSo fair a queen as all men see.And hold us for your lieges free;By Peter's soul that hath the key,Ye have good hap of it.
SECUNDUS MILES
I would that he were hanged and deadWho hath no joy to see your headWith gold about it, barred on red;I hold him as a sow of leadThat is so scant of wit.
Tunc dicatNATHANpropheta
O king, I have a word to thee;The child that is in BersabeShall wither without light to see;This word is come of God by meFor sin that ye have done.Because herein ye did not right,To take the fair one lamb to smiteThat was of Urias the knight;Ye wist he had but one.Full many sheep I wot ye had,And many women, when ye bade,To do your will and keep you glad,And a good crown about your headWith gold to show thereon.This Urias had one poor houseWith low-barred latoun shot-windowsAnd scant of corn to fill a mouse;And rusty basnets for his brows,To wear them to the bone.Yea the roofs also, as men sain,Were thin to hold against the rain;Therefore what rushes were there lainGrew wet withouten foot of men;The stancheons were all gone in twainAs sick man's flesh is gone.Nathless he had great joy to seeThe long hair of this BersabeFall round her lap and round her kneeEven to her small soft feet, that beShod now with crimson royallyAnd covered with clean gold.Likewise great joy he had to kissHer throat, where now the scarlet isAgainst her little chin, I wis,That then was but cold.No scarlet then her kirtle hadAnd little gold about it sprad;But her red mouth was always gladTo kiss, albeit the eyes were sadWith love they had to hold.
SECUNDUS MILES
How! old thief, thy wits are lame;To clip such it is no shame;I rede you in the devil's name,Ye come not here to make men game;By Termagaunt that maketh grame,I shall to-bete thine head.Hìc Diabolus capiat eum.This knave hath sharp fingers, perfay;Mahound you thank and keep alway,And give you good knees to pray;What man hath no lust to play,The devil wring his ears, I say;There is no more but wellaway,For now am I dead.
KING DAVID
Certes his mouth is wried and black,Full little pence be in his sack;This devil hath him by the back,It is no boot to lie.
NATHAN
Sitteth now still and learn of me;A little while and ye shall seeThe face of God's strength presently.All queens made as this Bersabe,All that were fair and foul ye be,Come hither; it am I.
Et hìc omnes cantabunt.
HERODIAS
I am the queen Herodias.This headband of my temples wasKing Herod's gold band woven me.This broken dry staff in my handWas the queen's staff of a great landBetwixen Perse and Samarie.For that one dancing of my feet,The fire is come in my green wheat,From one sea to the other sea.
AHOLIBAH
I am the queen Aholibah.My lips kissed dumb the word ofAhSighed on strange lips grown sick thereby.God wrought to me my royal bed;The inner work thereof was red,The outer work was ivory.My mouth's heat was the heat of flameFor lust towards the kings that cameWith horsemen riding royally.
CLEOPATRA
I am the queen of Ethiope.Love bade my kissing eyelids opeThat men beholding might praise love.My hair was wonderful and curled;My lips held fast the mouth o' the worldTo spoil the strength and speech thereof.The latter triumph in my breathBowed down the beaten brows of death,Ashamed they had not wrath enough.
ABIHAIL
I am the queen of Tyrians.My hair was glorious for twelve spans,That dried to loose dust afterward.My stature was a strong man's length:My neck was like a place of strengthBuilt with white walls, even and hard,Like the first noise of rain leaves catchOne from another, snatch by snatch,Is my praise, hissed against and marred.
AZUBAH
I am the queen of Amorites.My face was like a place of lightsWith multitudes at festival.The glory of my gracious browsWas like God's house made gloriousWith colours upon either wall.Between my brows and hair there wasA white space like a space of glassWith golden candles over all.
AHOLAH
I am the queen of Amalek.There was no tender touch or fleckTo spoil my body or bared feet.My words were soft like dulcimers,And the first sweet of grape-flowersMade each side of my bosom sweet.My raiment was as tender fruitWhose rind smells sweet of spice-tree root,Bruised balm-blossom and budded wheat.
AHINOAM
I am the queen Ahinoam.Like the throat of a soft slain lambWas my throat, softer veined than his:My lips were as two grapes the sunLays his whole weight of heat uponLike a mouth heavy with a kiss:My hair's pure purple a wrought fleece,My temples therein as a pieceOf a pomegranate's cleaving is.
ATARAH
I am the queen Sidonian.My face made faint the face of man,And strength was bound between my browsSpikenard was hidden in my ships,Honey and wheat and myrrh in strips,White wools that shine as colour does,Soft linen dyed upon the fold,Split spice and cores of scented gold,Cedar and broken calamus.
SEMIRAMIS
I am the queen Semiramis.The whole world and the sea that isIn fashion like a chrysopras,The noise of all men labouring,The priest's mouth tired through thanksgiving,The sound of love in the blood's pause,The strength of love in the blood's beat,All these were cast beneath my feetAnd all found lesser than I was.
HESIONE
I am the queen Hesione.The seasons that increased in meMade my face fairer than all men's.I had the summer in my hair;And all the pale gold autumn airWas as the habit of my sense.My body was as fire that shone;God's beauty that makes all things oneWas one among my handmaidens.
CHRYSOTHEMIS
I am the queen of Samothrace.God, making roses, made my faceAs a rose filled up full with red.My prows made sharp the straitened seasFrom Pontus to that ChersoneseWhereon the ebbed Asian stream is shed.My hair was as sweet scent that drips;Love's breath begun about my lipsKindled the lips of people dead.
THOMYRIS
I am the queen of Scythians.My strength was like no strength of man's,My face like day, my breast like spring.My fame was felt in the extreme landThat hath sunshine on the one handAnd on the other star-shining.Yea, and the wind there fails of breath;Yea, and there life is waste like death;Yea, and there death is a glad thing.
HARHAS
I am the queen of Anakim.In the spent years whose speech is dim,Whose raiment is the dust and death,My stately body without stainShone as the shining race of rainWhose hair a great wind scattereth.Now hath God turned my lips to sighs,Plucked off mine eyelids from mine eyes,And sealed with seals my way of breath.
MYRRHA
I am the queen Arabian.The tears wherewith mine eyelids ranSmelt like my perfumed eyelids' smell.A harsh thirst made my soft mouth hard,That ached with kisses afterward;My brain rang like a beaten bell.As tears on eyes, as fire on wood,Sin fed upon my breath and blood,Sin made my breasts subside and swell.
PASIPHAE
I am the queen Pasiphae.Not all the pure clean-coloured seaCould cleanse or cool my yearning veins;Nor any root nor herb that grew,Flag-leaves that let green water through,Nor washing of the dews and rains.From shame's pressed core I wrung the sweetFruit's savour that was death to eat,Whereof no seed but death remains.
SAPPHO
I am the queen of Lesbians.My love, that had no part in man's,Was sweeter than all shape of sweet.The intolerable infinite desireMade my face pale like faded fireWhen the ashen pyre falls through with heat.My blood was hot wan wine of love,And my song's sound the sound thereof,The sound of the delight of it.
MESSALINA
I am the queen of Italy.These were the signs God set on me;A barren beauty subtle and sleek,Curled carven hair, and cheeks worn wanWith fierce false lips of many a man,Large temples where the blood ran weak,A mouth athirst and amorousAnd hungering as the grave's mouth doesThat, being an-hungred, cannot speak.
AMESTRIS
I am the queen of Persians.My breasts were lordlier than bright swans.My body as amber fair and thin.Strange flesh was given my lips for bread,With poisonous hours my days were fed,And my feet shod with adder-skin.In Shushan toward EcbataneI wrought my joys with tears and pain,My loves with blood and bitter sin.
EPHRATH
I am the queen of Rephaim.God, that some while refraineth him,Made in the end a spoil of me.My rumour was upon the worldAs strong sound of swoln water hurledThrough porches of the straining sea.My hair was like the flag-flower,And my breasts carven goodlierThan beryl with chalcedony.
PASITHEA
I am the queen of Cypriotes.Mine oarsmen, labouring with brown throats,Sang of me many a tender thing.My maidens, girdled loose and bracedWith gold from bosom to white waist,Praised me between their wool-combing.All that praise Venus all night longWith lips like speech and lids like songPraised me till song lost heart to sing.
ALACIEL
I am the queen Alaciel.My mouth was like that moist gold cellWhereout the thickest honey drips.Mine eyes were as a grey-green sea;The amorous blood that smote on meSmote to my feet and finger-tips.My throat was whiter than the dove,Mine eyelids as the seals of love,And as the doors of love my lips.
ERIGONE
I am the queen Erigone.The wild wine shed as blood on meMade my face brighter than a bride's.My large lips had the old thirst of earth,Mine arms the might of the old sea's girthBound round the whole world's iron sides.Within mine eyes and in mine earsWere music and the wine of tears,And light, and thunder of the tides.Et hìc exeant, et dicat Bersabe regina;
Alas, God, for thy great pityAnd for the might that is in thee,Behold, I woful BersabeCry out with stoopings of my kneeAnd thy wrath laid and bound on meTill I may see thy love.Behold, Lord, this child is grownWithin me between bone and boneTo make me mother of a son,Made of my body with strong moan;There shall not be another oneThat shall be made hereof.
KING DAVID
Lord God, alas, what shall I sain?Lo, thou art as an hundred menBoth to break and build again:The wild ways thou makest plain,Thine hands hold the hail and rain,And thy fingers both grape and grain;Of their largess we be all well fain,And of their great pity:The sun thou madest of good gold,Of clean silver the moon cold,All the great stars thou hast toldAs thy cattle in thy foldEvery one by his name of old;Wind and water thou hast in hold,Both the land and the long sea;Both the green sea and the land,Lord God, thou hast in hand,Both white water and grey sand;Upon thy right or thy left handThere is no man that may stand;Lord, thou rue on me.O wise Lord, if thou be keenTo note things amiss that been,I am not worth a shell of beanMore than an old mare meagre and lean;For all my wrong-doing with my queen,It grew not of our heartès clean,But it began of her body.For it fell in the hot MayI stood within a paven wayBuilt of fair bright stone, perfay,That is as fire of night and dayAnd lighteth all my house.Therein be neither stones nor sticks,Neither red nor white bricks,But for cubits five or sixThere is most goodly sardonyxAnd amber laid in rows.It goes round about my roofs,(If ye list ye shall have proofs)There is good space for horse and hoofs,Plain and nothing perilous.For the fair green weather's heat,And for the smell of leavès sweet,It is no marvel, well ye weet,A man to waxen amorous.This I say now by my caseThat spied forth of that royal place;There I saw in no great spaceMine own sweet, both body and face,Under the fresh boughs.In a water that was thereShe wesshe her goodly body bareAnd dried it with her owen hair:Both her arms and her knees fair,Both bosom and brows;Both shoulders and eke thighsTho she wesshe upon this wise;Ever she sighed with little sighs,And ever she gave God thank.Yea, God wot I can well see yetBoth her breast and her sides all wetAnd her long hair withouten letSpread sideways like a drawing net;Full dear bought and full far fetWas that sweet thing there y-set;It were a hard thing to forgetHow both lips and eyen met,Breast and breath sank.So goodly a sight as there she was,Lying looking on her glassBy wan water in green grass,Yet saw never man.So soft and great she was and brightWith all her body waxen white,I woxe nigh blind to see the lightShed out of it to left and right;This bitter sin from that sweet sightBetween us twain began.
NATHAN
Now, sir, be merry anon,For ye shall have a full wise son,Goodly and great of flesh and bone;There shall no king be such an one,I swear by Godis rood.Therefore, lord, be merry here,And go to meat withouten fear,And hear a mass with goodly cheer;For to all folk ye shall be dear,And all folk of your blood.
Et tunc dicant Laudamus.