Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  The shut lips are breathed apart

  In a sleepy smile.

  LANCELOT

  Ah! dear Christ, this thing I see

  Is too wonderful for me,

  If I think indeed to be

  In Thy very grace.

  Clear flame shivers all about,

  But the bright ark alters not,

  Borne upright where angels doubt;

  The blessed maiden looketh out

  White, with barèd face and throat

  Leaned into the dark.

  On her hair’s faint light and shade

  A large aureole is laid,

  All about the tresses weighed.

  THE ANGEL

  This is what thou wert to find.

  Lo, the thin flames blown behind

  Tremble in the blowing wind

  As loose hair that girls unbind

  In a woody place.

  LANCELOT

  Ah, sweet Lord that art my Lord,

  Thy light is sharp as any sword;

  My heart is strainèd as a cord

  That a child may break.

  Evenwise each side her head

  So they stand, the blessed maid,

  The angels and the ark.

  It were strange if I should see

  Sweet new things for love of Thee;

  For such hope was not to be;

  Yet hast Thou had ruth on me

  For my sorrow’s sake.

  I tremble, but I cannot weep,

  I fear so much I am asleep;

  Round the faces ranged and steep

  A thin splendour seems to creep

  Thro’ the night so dear and deep,

  Seems to stir as leaves that dip

  In a lilied lake.

  Ah, sweet Lord that died on rood,

  Of old time Thy word hath stood

  And we saw it very good;

  Yet is this Thy happy blood

  I was not to see.

  THE ANGEL

  Where she standeth in the night

  Clasped about with solemn light,

  Clothed upon with samite bright.

  The blessed maiden very white,

  This is all the happy sight

  That I may bring for thee.

  LANCELOT

  Over me the glory smites,

  Sharp and level as the lights

  Spear-shap’d on solemn winter nights

  That strike from shade to shade;

  Only all the inner place

  (Ah, my Lord, is this Thy grace?)

  Shineth as a happy face

  In a clear and golden space

  That itself hath made.

  Is this love that I may win,

  Love of mine for all my sin?

  The straight flames flicker out and in,

  Tho’ they never fade.

  But the light of that strange place

  (Lord, I thank Thee for Thy grace!)

  Thro’ the lights of moving space

  Trembles like a living face

  Whereon some pain is laid.

  THE ANGEL

  Turn thine eyes against the light,

  Where the spearèd splendours smite

  Round the ark, most close and white;

  This is given me to-night

  For the love of thee.

  LANCELOT

  All the wonder shown above

  (Lord, I praise Thee for Thy love!)

  Thro’ the lights that mix and move

  Like blown feathers of a dove

  Stirreth, strange to see;

  And midway the solemn place

  (As my soul were full of grace)

  Leaning hither, the clear Face

  Seemeth to bless me.

  THE ANGEL

  Points of sharp light star the ground;

  Thro’ the wind is blown a sound

  As of singing voices round

  Over the dark land.

  Christ the Lord is fair and crowned,

  Whose pure blood, in bitter swound,

  Droppèd from the holy wound;

  Surely now the gift is found

  And ready to thy hand.

  LANCELOT

  Lo, between me and the light

  Grows a shadow on my sight,

  A soft shade to left and right,

  Branchèd as a tree.

  Green the leaves that stir between,

  And the buds are lithe and green,

  And against it seems to lean

  One in stature as the Queen

  That I prayed to see.

  Ah, what evil thing is this?

  For she hath no lips to kiss,

  And no brows of balm and bliss

  Bended over me.

  For between me and the shine

  Grows a face that is not mine,

  On each curve and tender line

  And each tress drawn straight and fine

  As it used to be.

  THE ANGEL

  This is Guenevere the Queen.

  LANCELOT

  For the face that comes between

  Is like one that I have seen

  In the days that were.

  Nay, this new thing shall not be.

  Is it her own face I see

  Thro’ the smooth leaves of the tree,

  Sad and very fair?

  All the wonder that I see

  Fades and flutters over me

  Till I know not what things be

  As I seemed to know.

  But I see so fair she is,

  I repent me not in this;

  And to kiss her but one kiss

  I would count it for my bliss

  To be troubled so,

  For she leans against it straight,

  Leans against it all her weight,

  All her shapeliness and state;

  And the apples golden-great

  Shine about her there.

  Light creeps round her as she stands,

  Round her face and round her hands,

  Fainter light than dying brands

  When day fills the eastern lands

  And the moon is low.

  And her eyes in some old dream

  Woven thro’ with shade and gleam

  Stare against me till I seem

  To be hidden in a dream,

  To be drowned in a deep stream

  Of her dropping hair.

  That is Guenevere the Queen.

  Now I know not what they mean,

  Those close leaves that grow so green,

  Those large fruits that burn between,

  Each a laugh new lit.

  Now I know not what they were,

  The light fires that trembled there

  Sharp and thin in the soft air,

  Nor the faces dumb and fair,

  Nor the happy singing near;

  But I seem to see her hair

  And the light on it.

  Day by day and hour by hour

  Grew her white face like a flower,

  Palest where the day grew lower

  On the fiery sea.

  Always sate I, watching her,

  By her carven gilded chair,

  Full of wonder and great fear

  If one long lock of her hair

  In the soft wind sink or stir,

  Fallen to her knee.

  All about her face and head

  The flat sunset overspread

  Like an aureole of red,

  Stained as drops from wounds that bled

  In some bitter fight.

  All the tender shapen head

  Dimly blurred with golden red,

  And the thin face, as I said,

  Drawn and white as snows wind-shed

  On the green place of the dead

  In a windy night.

  Coloured flakes of stormy fire

  Clomb the rent clouds high and higher,

  And the wind like a great lyre

  Sounded vague and loud.

  And the sunset lines
that flee

  On the flats of fiery sea

  Far below us, her and me,

  Were as golden red to see

  As the heaped hair on her knee

  Or as the coloured cloud.

  So we sat in love and fear,

  And no faces came anear,

  And no voices touched our ear

  But of angels singing clear

  Out of all the sunset drear

  Round us and above.

  And she listened; and a light

  Shivered upward in my sight

  Thro’ her set face, sad and white;

  Till I hid mine eyes for fright

  And for very love.

  Drear and void the sunset was

  On stained flats of fire and glass

  Where she saw the angels pass

  That I could not see:

  For none eyes but hers might pierce

  Thro’ the colours vague and fierce

  That a sunset weaves and wears;

  Downward slipt the long thin tears

  As she turned and sang this verse

  That she made for me.

  “Eastward under skies that dip

  As to touch the water’s lip,

  Pass, my ship, with sails that drip

  Not with dew, nor with rain.

  Thro’ the morning float and pass

  From the shores of flower and grass,

  Thro’ a space of golden glass

  Stained with a blood-red stain.

  Evil ship on evil sea,

  Bear him back again to me

  Till I see what secrets be

  Hidden in all this pain.”

  Then she spake not, neither stirred,

  But I shook for that one word

  With the pain of that I heard

  That she spake of me.

  For the ship that seemed to pass

  Thro’ the sea of fiery glass,

  That strange ship mine own soul was

  And my life the sea.

  And the sin that I had done

  In the fierce time that was gone

  When I slew her knight alone

  Face to face with the red sun

  Setting in the west.

  And my soul began to see

  All the ill she had of me

  When I bore her to the sea

  From her place of rest.

  Yet I loved her long and well;

  Yea, my tongue would tire to tell

  All the love that her befell,

  And the slow speech faint and fail

  Ere the love was told.

  Now she dwelleth by me here,

  In my castle builded fair;

  But no crown of mine will wear

  That I thought to keep for her,

  And on her beloved hair

  Lay the royal gold.

  And her face grows grey and long

  And harsh breaths come thro’ her song

  And her heart is worn with wrong,

  As is plain to see.

  Should I die, no help it were

  Now men say she is not fair,

  For the pain she seems to wear

  In grey cheeks and waning hair;

  All my love avails not her,

  And she loves not me.

  Vain was the prayer I prayed alway,

  Where in evil case I lay,

  That she might love me one day

  As the manner is;

  Vain the prayer that I have prayed,

  That, lying between light and shade,

  I that loved her as I said,

  I that never kissed a maid,

  I might have her kiss.

  JOYEUSE GARDE

  The sun was heavy; no more shade at all

  Than you might cover with a hollow cup

  There was in the south chamber; wall by wall,

  Slowly the hot noon filled the castle up.

  One hand among the rushes, one let play

  Where the loose gold began to swerve and droop

  From his fair mantle to the floor, she lay;

  Her face held up a little, for delight

  To feel his eyes upon it, one would say.

  Her grave shut lips were glad to be in sight

  Of Tristram’s kisses; she had often turned

  Against her shifted pillows in the night

  To lessen the sore pain wherein they burned

  For want of Tristram; her great eyes had grown

  Less keen and sudden, and a hunger yearned

  Her sick face through, these wretched years agone.

  Her eyes said “Tristram” now, but her lips held

  The joy too close for any smile or moan

  To move them; she was patiently fulfilled

  With a slow pleasure that slid everwise

  Even into hands and feet, but could not build

  The house of its abiding in her eyes,

  Nor measure any music by her speech.

  Between the sunlight came a noise of flies

  To pain sleep from her, thick from peach to peach

  Upon the bare wall’s hot red level, close

  Among the leaves too high for her to reach.

  So she drew in and set her feet, and rose

  Saying “Too late to sleep; I pray you speak

  To save me from the noises, lest I lose

  Some minute of this season; I am weak

  And cannot answer if you help me not,

  When the shame catches on my brow and cheek.”

  For in the speaking all her face grew hot,

  And her mouth altered with some pain, I deem

  Because her word had stung like a bad thought

  That makes us recollect some bitter dream.

  She bowed to let him kiss her, and went on:

  “All things are changed so, will this day not seem

  Most sad and evil when I sit alone

  Outside your eyes? will it not vex my prayer

  To think of laughter that is twin to moan,

  And happy words that make not holier?

  Nathless I had good will to say one thing,

  Though it seems pleasant in the late warm air

  To ride alone and see the last of spring.

  I cannot lose you, Tristram; (a weak smile

  Moved her lips and went out) men say the king

  Hath set keen spies about for many a mile,

  Quick hands to get them gold, sharp eyes to see

  Where your way swerves across them. This long while

  Hath Mark grown older with his hate of me,

  And now his hand for lust to smite at us

  Plucks the white hairs inside his beard that he

  This year made thicker. Seeing this he does

  I pray you note that we may meet with him

  At riding through the branches growth, and then

  Our wine grow bitter at the golden rim

  And taste of blood and tears, not sweet to drink

  As this new honey wherein juices swim

  Of fair red vintage.”

  Her voice done, I think

  He had no heart to answer; yet some time

  The noon outside them seem to throb and sink,

  Wrought in the quiet to a rounded rhyme.

  Then “certes,” said he, “this were harm to both

  If spears grew thick between the beech and lime,

  Or amid reeds that let the river south,

  Yet so I think you might get help of me.

  Had I not heart to smile, when Iseult’s mouth

  Kissed Palomydes under a thick tree?

  For I remember, as the wind sets low,

  How all that peril ended quietly

  In a green place where heavy sunflowers blow.”

  BALLAD: IT WAS WHEN COCKS BEGAN TO CROW

  It was when cocks began to crow

  And the dawn lay white and low.

  The mother slept upon the bed,

  The child slept on her bosom dead.

/>   When the floor was grey with light,

  She looked into the dawn all white.

  A bird sang at the window-sill

  And of its song was never still.

  As she heard him singing sweet,

  Fear crept down her to the feet.

  She looked against the morning red,

  And knew that the white child was dead.

  She looked against the morning bird,

  It sang, she spake not any word.

  She cursed it in her heart and wept,

  And very still the white child slept.

  ‘O sister, sing me some old word,

  For I would not hear the singing bird.’

  ‘O what is this pain about your face?

  And what shall I sing in the dead child’s place?’

  ‘Fear not here to sing my song,

  For the child shall feel no wrong.’

  Then the maiden’s singing shrill

  All the frore grey dawn did fill.

  ‘What thing is this? I hear no word

  But ever the same song of the bird.

  ‘Thou dost not well to use me so,

  Thy song is very dull and low.’

  ‘O sister, the song is new and sweet,

  It is the dead child singing it.’

  The white bird from the sill was gone,

  The white face shone in the straight sun.

  Ere the sweet new song was done,

  On two dead faces came the sun.

  Ere the song was ended meet,

  The mother’s voice was mixed in it.

  Under the drawn threads of the shroud

  Came two voices that sang loud.

  The girls that carried out the bier

  Felt their set hands loosen with fear.

  Under the grass for two days long

  There sang all day a sweet new song.

  In a green place both lie dead,

  The child sleeps at the grave’s head.

  SECOND LOVE

  O what have you done with your brave brown horse.

  Tell me for the love of me?

  Red beaks are muffled in his corse,

  And no more praise shall he have of me.

  O what have ye done with your small white bird

  That sang so on the hand of me?

  It shall not sing ye any word,

  It feeds not on the land of me.

  O what have ye done with your thin gold ring

  That I bade ye keep for me?

  I would not keep me anything,