MY BEAUTIFUL LADY.
NELLY DALE.

BY
THOMAS WOOLNER, R.A.

CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited:
LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK & MELBOURNE.
1887.

So goes Mr. Woolner’s song, as it continues to highlight the connection between noble earthly love and the divine. Its outcome is a life of great striving, where

This Library is founded on a belief in value, and p. 6 on an understanding of the widespread desire among people today to read authentic books that truly impact lives, which, as Milton puts it, “contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.” So, when a genius, for the second time, writes with the hope of uplifting hearts and minds by contributing another genuine book to the country's treasures, honors us by recognizing our goal and sharing in it, by giving up part of their exclusive rights to their work and offering it to be freely available alongside the other volumes in our series—we gladly accept the gift, if we may say so, in the spirit of the giver, and we are the p. 7 happier for this proof that our efforts are not in vain.

Such evidence comes in other forms: through letters from isolated readers in remote settlements, from the far West, from sheep farms in Australia, from the far reaches of India, from places where these little books arrive as pioneers; being among the first real books they've ever seen. Sending a genuine voice over to bring joy and encouragement to sincere workers who embrace a good book in a way that's hard for us to comprehend—us, who live wastefully amid abundance and sometimes neglect to appreciate the beauty around us—is worth the effort of any talented person who invests their passion into their work, just like Mr. Woolner does.

p. 8Books in the “National Library” that come from people like Mr. Patmore and Mr. Woolner are here as friends and companions. If they weren’t highly regarded, they wouldn’t be here. Beyond that assumption, there’s not much else to say. It would be rude for a host to criticize his guest or to praise him loudly in front of him. A well-known person today doesn't need a personal introduction. It's only noted here, considering that this book will be read by many who can't know as much as those who have access to the works of artists, that Mr. Thomas Woolner is a Royal Academician and one of the leading sculptors of our time. For a couple of years, from 1877 to 1879, he served as Professor of Sculpture at the Royal Academy. A massive p. 9bronze statue of Captain Cook was designed by him for a location overlooking Sydney Harbour. A poet’s imagination has given life to his work in marble, and when he was working with Mr. Millais, Mr. Holman Hunt, and others, who in 1850 were trying to bring truth and beauty into art by pushing back against bland and insincere standards that Mr. Ruskin advocated, Mr. Woolner contributed to a magazine they created called “The Germ,” to which some of the poems in this collection were submitted.

There’s nothing more to add; but on another page, let Wordsworth share the praise of Books:

Prelude, Book V.
H. M.

In some, there's a sorrow so deep
That it can’t find a voice or reveal itself
Through the daily grind of work or thought,
Or during conversations shared between kindred souls,
As much as people understand. And even though perhaps
Their cheeks might thin or sag; their eyes’
Bright sparkle may fade; hair might lose its color or fall out;
And their health might decline in strength; and they
Appear older than their age;
Yet to others, they seem to fill their lives
With cheerfulness, handling every responsibility,
As if their expressions conveyed the truth within.
But they aren’t like others: for them
There’s no quick heartbeat or spark of desire,
p. 16The joy and wonder in new things;
The hope that eagerly enters where
Perfection smiles on all of life;
Nor do they with lively ambition
Anticipate joy in achieving goals;
Nor, once they’ve achieved their aims, retreat like gods
To savor the calm satisfaction of contentment.
Instead, in a sober, chilly gray atmosphere,
They work through their lives; more varied though they are
Than creatures in the unknown depths of the ocean,
Yet each one in whom this deep sorrow takes root
Is numb to what gives everything value.
And though, maybe, a shallow physical joy
Often tingles through them in the spring warmth,
Or during the first joyous song of the lark;
Still, that heavy burden constantly
Pulls their thoughts and emotions back to hidden grief.
Though, if graced with light, heroic acts
Can be achieved; and if kindly inclined
They can be cherished blessings throughout their lives;
p. 17Yet power and goodness feel like mere dreams to them,
And they barely notice, whether their waking view
Is met with stormy rain against the window,
Or sunlight sparkling on the leaves that dance
In the clearest blue of breezy summer mornings.

Where does this deep sadness come from,
So unfathomable that it overwhelms humanity?
Oh, who can say! Where does the wind arise
That tosses the ocean into wild waves
That smash huge ships against the rocks,
And scatter them as if they were fragile
Like little eggs boys throw at a tree
In reckless play? Where, detestable,
To man, who suffers from the terrible jaws,
Is the power that in the massive crocodiles’
Outrageous size ignites the fire of life?
That erupts from mountains in a flood
Of lava, destroying lives and creations
p. 18In scorching, filthy ruin?—The power that inflicts
A city with disease: or changes
The sweet baby, who in his mother’s lap
Copies her kisses and laughter,
Through desires and submission to hardened sin,
Into a knife-wielding killer at midnight?

Our lives are mysteries, rarely explored
As we read stories written by humans.
We can sometimes catch a stray thread
And trace hints of texture here and there,
From that amazing loom weaving our fates.
Two parents, later in life, are happily blessed
With one bright child, a wonder of his time,
For beauty and impressive talent:
Some common tragedy takes him; both parents,
Until their death, stay living tombs
That hold the one dead image of their joy.
A man, the epitome of honor, who finds
His beloved young daughter has run away,
Lost her innocence, a nameless thing
p. 19Taunting his blood. A young man who pours
All his strength into loving one
Who returns his sweet smiles, and leaves his home
For some distant land, seeking wealth he hopes
Will spoil her with delightful gifts,
And upon returning sees the sweet smiles
Are brightening other lips. A husband who
Discovers that household curse, a disloyal wife.
A thinker whose deep concern sees
His country heading toward disgrace.
A graceful woman whose reserve stops
Her from expressing what tears at her heart.
Such stories (and some losses that are too painful to share,
Which steadfast silence will protect from those,
Debased or talkative, whose hearts are corrupted,
But learn the dark secrets of their kind
To poison their humor, or mock and laugh
With hypocritical glee at disgrace)—
Such instances as these need no guide
p. 20To untangle the grim outcomes from their source!
But there are others, lying deeply hidden,
Dark, hopeless, and profoundly sad,
Which have not been, and may never be known.

Then we can definitely call happy the person whose grief,
Combined with cherished memories of the past,
Can share with others how the storm blew up,
That struck and left him feeling alone in the world;
And who, while telling the story, finds his sorrow eased,
By the respect that love and sorrow deserve.

It’s important for all of us, especially those
Who have been blessed with an easy trust,
To keep a check on restless speech
And thoughts: and not to rush to judgment
On the first impression as the complete truth.
Because it’s true that quick thoughts and random
Words and glances more often
Than malice, deep-seated hate, or scorn,
Cause confusion and distort what’s right;
p. 21They put the weak in the place of the strong;
And tie the strength of the great to idleness;
They pour money into the hands of the wasteful, and drain
The wealth—which is a power—from those
Who would have used it for noble purposes.
And often a person will hurt a friend,
With careless words, more painfully
Than a foe could, yet hardly mean to do wrong;
For no one can peel back this complex facade
And see who suffers from hidden wounds.
Those who have been injured in battle,
Who lean on crutches to support their weight,
Are visible to all; and respect
For their misfortunes often earns them sympathy:
But wounds, sometimes deeper and more dangerous,
We might carelessly inflict in a crowd,
Harass and distress, because they’re unknown to us.
So, regardless of our needs,
Let’s decide to act with kindness;
Judge gently when we’re unsure; and take a moment
Before we clearly proclaim injustice
p. 22Before we deliver a harsh judgment: against
Those disgraceful ones who always wait
To steal another’s rights, we will maintain
A dignified peace in silence; knowing well
Their schemes take something greater from themselves.
It’s fitting to respect the great;
But let’s not forget those who are lowly;
Respecting them more, since they lack the strength
To claim it from the world. For there are souls
Of humble capacity, whose intent holds,
Throughout their unnoticed lives, a value,
And a steadfast law of integrity,
That would be an honor even to those
Whose brilliance defines the limits of our kind.

Love comes from a higher place, bringing joy to human life,
Like the sunrise breaking over the eyes of someone
Confused in a distant wilderness, feeling lost:
Who, feeling weak and terrified, through the night
Heard wild creatures nearby; and the distant wail
Of storms on the wind.

Joyful dawn
Brightens the face of childhood, warming his cheeks
With a rosy glow at the mention of Love;
And forgotten thoughts stir in the darkness,
Like fledgling birds moving their blind heads
Towards a beautiful world they don’t yet know.
Young Hope climbs high into the blue sky to look,
In Love’s first golden and sweet dream.
He sees the earth filled with tempting paths,
p. 26For joyful walks among the blooming flowers
And the music of the streams. No hidden wrongs,
Or unexpected storms disrupt or surprise;
But lingering, a man walks slowly along a fragrant path;
And at the end, hand in hand with Love,
He steps into proud glory: then rises anew
With Love beyond the stars and rests in heaven.

A man, fueled by love, can calmly handle
The clash of conflicting interests; the confusing web
Of challenges that slow down progress:
In the midst of a fierce struggle, he grows stronger
At the fleeting thought of home, of her,
His kind wife, and the joys that light up his life.

To him
The wrinkled old man, who sits under the sun
His shrunken body beneath the branches he climbed
As a nimble boy, where does that thoughtful smile come from,
Whose secret lifts his cheeks and fills
His eyes with gentle tears? What flows through his body
p. 27Makes relaxation sweeter than drifting off to sleep
For someone worn out from a long day’s work?
It’s the memory of pure love,
Whose vivid brilliance colored his life
In heavenly hues; and as daylight breaks,
Revealing dangerous cliffs, his steps are confined
To the paths leading to the highest purpose.
Now chasing this faded glory, weary, his soul
Always lingers at the mysterious gates of Death;
And waits in patient reverence until his fate
Unfolds them, fulfilling immortal Love.

From a height, on a wild, cloudy day,
A traveler, cold and worn, perhaps sees
A golden beam of light moving through the gloomy landscape;
Creating lakes,
And green pastures, farms, and villages;
And touching spires, making them flicker like flames;
Revealing herds of quietly feeding cows;
And brightening the woods, bringing them to song;
p. 28As the traveler brightens when the light
Suddenly shines on him. For a moment, warmed,
He barely feels its beauty before
The departing light leaves his sorrowful soul
Colder than before it arrived.
         Thus love once shone
And blessed my life: then vanished into gloom.

I love my lady; she is very beautiful;
Her forehead is pale, and tied with simple hair:
Her spirit is proud and distant,
But the looks from her gentle eyes
Are sweetly captivating.

As a young forest sways in the wind,
My life is moved when she comes into sight;
Her beauty leaves me no choice
But to stand in silent awe, until she fills
My longing with her voice.

Her singing voice, though always soft and gentle,
Often makes me feel as strong wine would a child:
   p. 30And though her hand feels light
   To touch, it moves me with its power,
      Like a sudden scare.

A hawk soaring high in the sky, its strong wing tips
Tremble with restrained power, just before it swoops,
   In alertness, hangs less intently
   Than I, when her voice captivates my senses
      Satisfied yet in suspense.

Her mention of something grand or humble,
Makes it much greater than it was before:
Just as where the sun hits, life will burst forth,
And what is pale will gain a glow,
Bright colors, a deeper blush.

My lady's name, when I hear strangers use,
Not meant for her, feels like a careless misuse;
   I love none but my lady's name;
   Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, they feel the same,
      Are harsh, or dull and plain.

p. 31My Lady walks like a swan
Gliding where the sunlight sparkles on the water:
There, ends of willow branches float,
Shaking gently in the moving tide,
By the deep riverbank.

Fresh beauties, however she moves, are stirred:
As the sun-kissed chest of a hummingbird
With each breath lifts some fiery hue,
Bright gold, mesmerizing green or blue;
The same, yet always new.

What time she walks under the blooming May,
I’m pretty sure the fragrant blossoms say,
   “O Lady with the sunlit hair!
   Stay and breathe our sweet air,
      The fragrance that we share:

“Your beauty, my lady, we would always protect;
For close to you, our sweetness might disappear.”
   p. 32And if the trees could feel heartbroken,
   The green sap would surely have hurt,
      When my lady left.

How beautiful she is! A glorious gem
She shines above the summer crown
Of flowers! And when her light is seen
Among them, everyone leans in reverence
To her, their guiding Queen.

A man so poor that need affects his health,
Blessed with relief one morning in endless wealth,
Breathes no joy like mine, when she
Stands taller, waiting for me,
Than tall white lilies do:

And the white flutter of her robe to trace,
Where clematis and jasmine intertwine,
Expands my view triumphantly:
Just like his gaze, who looks up high
His flag, as a symbol of victory.

p. 33We move on without realizing it, because
The beautiful blue of the evening calls us;
When dull colors fill the earth,
And all of life is silenced
Into quiet depths of sound.

We walk through a small thicket where lots of brambles poke out
From the side roots, getting in the way,
And make us stop and enjoy the moment;
I lift one with my foot, and chat
About its leaves and stem.

Or maybe a thorn or prickly stem
Will catch a hold of her long dress’ hem;
To free it, I kneel,
Often hurting myself more than I can fix;
It makes her laugh at my effort.

Or just ahead, a thin-legged robin hops,
And jumping onto a twig, he cheekily stops,
   p. 34Giving a few clear notes, until we
   Get close, then he quickly flies
      Into a nearby bush.

A group of goldfinches stops flying,
And circling around a birch tree, they land
Deep in its shimmering leaves; and remain
Until they get startled by us, then they
Take off with annoyed chirps.

I remember my lady in the woods,
Holding her breath, while looking as she stood
   There, balanced gently on tiptoe,
   To spot a cozy nest below,
      Leaves shading her brow.

I remember her looking confused, asking me,
What could that weird tapping in the wood be?
I talked about greedy thrushes that,
To enjoy delicious bites so rich,
Cracked poor snails' curled shells.

p. 35And then, like a captive knight in a romance,
Through a secret and dark passage, past the grim stares
   Of warriors; where from her high throne the woman
   He loved, with a luxurious blush, came
      To him, speechless with shame:

Even so, my spirit moved on and triumphed, despite fears
That were close to despair; through pointless tears,
   And hope that was weak and barely hanging on,
   Where Love’s beauty shone bright and clear
      Before my eyes.

For when we got to a clearing, where the stone
And broken pieces of the shells were scattered,
By the edge of a weedy stream;
“This air,” she said, “feels damp and
chilly, let’s go home if you want.”

“Don’t make my path boring so soon,” I shouted;
“Look at those clouds of a rosy evening
p. 36Roll out their beauty: while the breeze
Shifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these
Flexible young trees sway comfortably!”

Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush
Startled the air with song; then every bush
Of hidden songbirds all stirred,
And all, as if following their leader’s cue,
Joined in full chorus.

A lonely wind sighed through the pines and sang
Of long-forgotten sorrows. My spirit hovered
Over terrible chasms: and dreadful fear
So bitter that I wished I were dead,
And from a vast emptiness it spoke;

“Wait until its glory fades; the sun only shone
To highlight your beauty!” The Lady turned
To me, warmed by its remaining rays,
Silent like a star. My desperate praise
Held her brightened gaze:

p. 37When, fully determined, I expressed all
The deep love I felt for her; how it would drain
   My very breath of life if she
   Never shared hers with me:—
      Could I be a spirit,

How, hoping in vain to enhance her beauty,
What gems and wonders would I grab from the sky;
Would race back through the endless distance,
Thrilled to see her smile,
And scatter them around her feet!

Her waist moved against my arm. She lowered her head
To mine quietly, and my worries disappeared:
(Just then we heard a ringing bell.)
Oh no; it's not appropriate to say;
But I remember clearly

How precious the feeling of her warm young body
Against mine, her safe place; how proud and grateful
   p. 38I stood and felt her tears streaming down,
   While confidently whispering in her ears
      The promise of years to come.

The rest I hold onto: a special charm, a source
Of hidden strength and comfort as I move forward.
Her glory lit up my path;
And stars on stars throughout the night
Came to life and shone bright.

O lily with the heavenly sun
Shining on your blooms!
My scattered feelings for you rush,
And come to a heavy calm.

The darkness of our universe
Choked my soul in night;
Your glory shone; and with that, the curse
Turned into light.

Raised above envy; free from pain;
Beyond the storms of luck:
Blessed king of my own realm I rule,
Controlling the situation.

Warble, warble, warble, O you joyful bird!
Warble, hidden among the leaves that shade my happy head;
Warble loud joys, praise your warm-breasted mate,
And warble the excitement of your heart,
Your greatest joy can't match mine.

Flutter, flutter, and flash; red-winged
flower,
Separated from your stem in a land of dreams!
Hover and shake, flitting until you find,
Butterfly, your treasure! Yet you will never
Find a treasure as rich as my peaceful rest.

p. 42Buzz happily, you wandering bee!
Or take a break in your favorite flowers and enjoy their nectar;
From a honeyed petal, you can never taste
The sweetest sweetness like I do from Love,—
From Love’s warm lips, I draw the sweetest sweetness.

Round, western wind, sway in grateful eddies,
Whisper sweetly to the trembling flowers:
Oh, if I could fill your emptiness like I
Am filled with happiness, you’d create such sounds
Their blooms would fade and waver, yearning for love;
You’d share rarer secrets than those carried
By the heavenly scents of the nearby bean fields;—
These bean-field aromas, lightly sweet and faint,
That speak of pastures sloping down to streams
Murmuring endlessly through sunny lands;
Where mountains shine and rise to silvery heights
That hardly the greatest angel’s wing can reach;
p. 43Where
wonderful creatures float beneath the shade
Of magnificent growths, unknown to humankind;
Where opalescent mists lie entranced in dreams,
Where melodies are heard and fade at will,
And little spirits passionately enchant flowers.

Though widely bright, plain with yellow flowers,
A stunning burst of brilliance in the noon!
And brightening the open sky, you shining clouds,
With your shimmering light that makes the blue fade!
Your brightness combined with the sun’s
Would seem dark compared to the glory within me.

For Love’s own voice has claimed that her love is mine;
And Love’s own hand has pressed my hand to hers;
Love’s own deep eyes have looked into the love she spoke:
And Love’s young heart was tenderly beating with mine
As I tasted the sweetness of life from her lips.

What cliché nonsense uncoordinated thinkers
In boring books write or talk about every day,
About original sin and rising crime!
And commenting on the progress of time,
Say that wrong has bred wrong for endless ages,
The powerful marking the weak as victims.

They talk about wars—that rumble heard in dreams;
Massive uprisings and changes in power
Settled through violence. I wonder how those who think
Through fears are so often made
To declare as truth what everyone sees,
Who watch battles in the clouds blown through stormy ranges!

p. 46Why don’t they fill the printed page with love,
Lighting it up, like the moon lights up the night,
Calmly shining on a world of beauty,
Where love always walks side by side with duty;
And life, a long and hopeful journey,
Turns work into a joyful pastime!

It was such a joy for me to see him
Whistling this afternoon behind his team,
Moving at a relaxed and easy pace;
While the dark earth, shaped smoothly and gracefully,
Had waves lapping against waves, without a sound;
And everything felt blissful, like a dream.

And those I saw working on the hill
Talking casually about everyday things,
A daughter's wedding day, a son's first child;
How the kind Squire finally made peace,
Had forgiven Will for the pheasant he shot:—
Chirping away like any cricket sings.

p. 47And that perfect peaceful countryside,
The playing boy who tended his grazing sheep;
And, like a small bird bursting with happiness,
Played on for hours, my joyful shepherd boy!
While, curled up below, his loyal animal
Basked in the sunlight, blinking, half asleep.

This quiet night breeze blows heavenly clean;
Like the gentle warmth of a baby’s face.
Look, sparkling like stars in that sweet valley
The village lights; each one tells a small story
Of simple comfort, where the people, for sure
In hope, feel thankful in their humble space.

And here my lady's lit-up oriel glows
Like a giant glowworm in the fragrant dark.
Ah, she stands there smiling in her loose white dress,
Listening to the music of her future drown
The quiet and soft whispers of the vines,
Whose lattice-clinging leaves shade her room!

p. 48Or she kneels in reverent prayer beside her bed
With wide-eyed hope and humble attitude,
To ask that He, the Giver, may grant
Enough strength to steady her trembling heart
Firm and true; and that her will be guided
To recognize that His painful lessons are ultimately blessings?

Or does she sit at her mirror, looking at
Her own beauty? (Oh, blessed place
That has such double perfection together;
If I’m right!) Ah, I wonder if
She’s now letting her luxurious braided hair down
And letting it flow from her pale white hand!

Then what a source of beauty for a lover’s eyes!
Her loose hair, I heard her mother say,
When she sits, spills down to the floor
And drags along the length of her foot and more:
And do I, wrapped in happiness, dare to dream
That soon I’ll watch its flowing softness dance?

p. 49Dare I, oh vanity! But do I really dare
Think she’s looking at the crummy poem
I wrote long before that beloved sunset,
When love conquered the fear my Lady faced,
While I, unblessed, adored in silent despair:—
Even now I gave it to her at goodbye.

“O let me, my Dearest, fall and share
My sorrowful love to soothe this broken heart;
Just once, O Love, to fall and rest
This tired head of mine,
Just once to weep against
Your incredibly tender chest;
And on my heavy eyelids feel your warm breath;
To feel it lingering would be sweeter than death.

“Than death would be a relief for someone who is bent over and old,
And worn out from many persecutions;
   Whose strength endured for so long alone
      The attack from bitter enemies,
      p. 50Till, in rage, he stood up,
   When struck, everyone was defeated.
Who then of those closest to him could be found,
They had fled like leaves before the wind.

“As he walks by, his fading eyesight
Sees their shapes in a heavenly light;
And cutting through his sleepy ears
Comes their melodic call
As clearly as can be,
To where no mourners’ tears flow:
So, my dearest Love, my spirit, weighed down,
Would weep and rest in your embrace.”

Her window is now filled with darkness, except for the glow
Cast on it by the moon. Inside, she rests
Her flexible body relaxed, in peaceful sleep,
And wraps contentment around her like a warm embrace,
Her beautiful breathing, steady and calm,
Turns time into heavenly lullabies.

To summon My Lady where she stood
“A Wild-rose flower of the woods,”
Is really a weak comparison.

For who, by such a trick, would achieve
A goal, wastes the value in words,
And makes a red rose fade.

My love, whose practical wisdom
Makes her efforts truly rewarding,
And protects her kindness with strength:

The sweet confidence in their gaze
Comes from kind actions,
And earns the trust that trust returns:

p. 52Whose impressive figure’s changing elegance
Is never noticed unless she looks
Beaming in a different direction;

For such a halo, it shines
Surprised attention only realizes
A vibrant wonder at rest.

Can flowers that bloom for just one day
In fragrant sweetness give life away,
And then gently fade to the ground,

Have any claim to rank with her,
Warmed in whose soul impulses stir,
Then bloom to goodness, and affirm

Her value through celestial joys will persist
When suns and systems stop shining above,
And nothing exists but pure Love?

Strong in the royal power of love,
Elevated by natural talent,
Her influence is felt on earth:
Whose spirit gazes down from above,
Uplifted stars, whose strength
Illuminates the brightest flower.

Her beauty moves with a joyful grace
Like lightly trotting fawns
Over old lawns shaded by elms.
There's a softness in her face,
And like the morning light,
It suggests a full day ahead.

p. 54When the site looks expansive under the skies
On the sun’s bright path,
And when it softly reflects back
Its brilliance to her open eyes,
She fills our hearts and vision
With awe and joy.

And when tired, my mind goes numb,
Or when memories of the past
Roll over my soul,
Often breaking through the darkness comes
A comfort and a surprise,
Her eyes filled with wonder.

How grand and beautiful the love
She silently hides,
Neither shows it in action!
She thinks about kindness; like a dove
Sits reflecting in the nest
Of the life within her.

p. 55The vibrant energy that was recognized
In a person's true youth,
The first moments of time,
In all her daily routines is apparent;
Gentle greatness carefully created
With unusual and innocent ideas.

She sits listening to music: her fingers drop,
The air trembles; her raised voice
Makes hopeful expectations soar,
And shivers through Time's ghostly veil,
Its shifting gaps reveal
Faint brilliance, far off;

Where her perfection, crowned with glory,
Will rest in love forever;
When mortal systems break apart,
And the universe is engulfed,
Leaving the empty skies
The void of death-closed eyes.

p. 56Deep in this truth, I place my trust;
And I recognize the precious one's praise,
Her silently graceful ways,
When all her beauty has turned to dust
And moss covers her name,
She will still bless our world the same.

As the scent of flowers, her value emerged
Her cheerful kindness spread
Like music overhead,
Smiles now like a field of corn
When in the June winds,
Illuminated by a bright noon.

A break of sunlight in the storm;
A flower before spring;
Eternal whispers;
A spirit revealed through form
That we can touch and kiss,—
This is the beauty of life.

p. 57Ah! Who can doubt, even if he questions Our solid earth will revolve A future around the sun, That gentle impulse released Can never fail or fade, But beats forever!

At morning time where vines intertwine
We strolled leisurely, because we cherished the spot,
And chatted about fleeting moments; I, happy to see
Through leafy imitations the real leaves created,
The grace and beauty of her shade;

A flicker of unusual purples barely visible,
It darkened the daisy’s brightness, the kingcup’s glow,
And soaked up sunshine from the lively green.
That quiet shadow shifting on the grass
Filled me with dread that it would ever go by.

And let it be nothing in the years ahead
Where, in the terrible shadow of my fears,
p. 60Her shrouded figure I saw through blurry tears,
My darling's shrouded figure in beauty's bloom
Born with mournful sadness to her tomb.

“What pointless dreaming,” I suddenly exclaimed:
My Lady turned, half surprised, beside me,
And looked for an explanation: I, either ashamed or proud,
Joked about the words as if mocking reason,
Just a silly whim of nurtured laziness.

She didn't push me; gentle, wise, and kind!
But held my hand and talked: her shining mind
Lighted up everything it touched. Behind,
Her shadow faded away, as she and I
Walked home, thinking, smiling at the sky.

Through pastures and fields where corn grew tall;
By cozy cottages that held no wrong at all;
p. 61Across the bridge where the stream laughed, along
The road to where her gabled house stood,
Old, tall, and roomy, in a dense wood.

We hung out by the porch but stopped for a moment
Where Psyche has a sundial to charm
The sunny hours with her golden smile;
And she holds it like a goblet filled with wine,
Almost dressed in swirling wild roses.

In the deep calm that surrounded me
My soul felt at ease: no dark vision glared
Before my eyes while I looked down
Where Psyche’s and My Lady’s shadows rested,
Twin beauties on the flower-lined gravel path.

I then just longed for Titian’s amazing talent,
That I, by working for just one dedicated hour,
p. 62Might slow down the passage of Time and leave a legacy
Of rich joy that beauty I could witness,
For future generations yet to come.

The wind that benefits neither people nor animals
For weeks on end, relentlessly coming from the East
Brought darkness and destruction across the land and finally stopped.
When gently blowing over the vast Atlantic waves,
The mild and refreshing Western breeze flowed softly.

As I walked out, I felt a vague sense of unease,
Her grip on my arm was tighter than usual,
As we moved through the morning's sweet-smelling air, searching for the damage
That the harsh Eastern wind had caused to the garden’s plants;
Where many lay dead or weak from the drought.

p. 64Her own flower garden was surrounded by a red
Old brick wall, covered in moss;
Where, between pink and blue flowerbeds, a patch
Of bright lilies glimmered in beautiful light;
She called them “Radiant spirits dressed in white.”

Here, the wild wind had gone crazy and scattered
Fluffy white petals everywhere, blown hard
The stems in tangled piles: just one flower
Still hung on and brightened the barren ground, the last bloom born
Among its fallen relatives, left desolate.

“Your pale droop,” I cried, “but more than anything,
Your lonely sweetness captivates my soul,
Oh Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall:
Adored by violets, admired by the rose,
Well loved by every gentle flower that blooms!”

My lady, gentle as a dove, went to the lily,
With cupped hands, she took a cup and leaned forward,
Deeply inhaling its dreamy scent like gold.
p. 65I see her now, her pale beauty, as she stands bending,
The weathered blossom resting in her hands!

Then, slowly rising, she gazed into space,
Afraid, for a long time she stared at nothing. A glance
Of cool beauty touched her face
And revealed the sad truth that the harsh weather
Had made both her lilies and My Lady wilt together.

“Weak, but her spirits are good,” the letter said:
A bell was ringing while I read these words,
A dull, haunting call for the dead.
Fear grew with every step I took,
Rushing down that never-ending road.

And when I got to the house, a wave of fear hit me
That stirred up a hidden feeling of guilt,
And as I entered, I hardly dared to say her name,
   Who lay there, sweet singer, softly
   Singing the rhymes I wrote for her long ago.

“The sun brings out the morning dew,
      The dew comes back again
      In the evening with refreshing rain:
   p. 68The forest flowers bloom brightly new,
      They wilt and fade away,
      The seeds inside them stay
   Will bloom just like the others did.”

“And always wander among the flowers
      Bright kids who soon enough
      Become strong men and women:
   As they move along through sun and rain,
      And glance sideways to see
      Their kids running to catch
   A rainbow with the joyful Hours.”

I watched in awkward amazement for a while
As she lay there, carefree, and sang my rhyme,
Wrapped in fabrics from an Indian climate
   She looked like a Bird of Paradise
   Weary from her journey through the skies.

A bright, snowy peak at dawn is like her smile... It's odd that I
Would linger nearby, admiring her grace,
When love stirred and tested my feelings,
   p. 69Announced with chills of creeping fear
   There’s definitely danger lurking close.

I hesitated to explore the abyss that seemed
To open before me, its edges adorned
With stunning flowers:—she speaks! I’m entranced
   For one holy moment, feeling at peace,
   Silently weeping in her heart:

Within the beating treasure, cried? But briefly
Those freeing tears of blessed deep relief,
That won a victorious ransom from my sorrow,
While loving words and comfort she
Spoke in angelic tones to me.

Our eyes locked, and with compassion, she threw
Her passionate arms around me, kissing me tightly,
Close kisses, suffocating kisses; until each one squeezed,
   With lips pressed together, we shared the other’s joy
   In one long, sighing kiss.

p. 70Love-flower that burst into kisses and sweet tears,
Scattering its rosy dreamflakes, fades away
Into harsh reality: for, echoing with loud jeers,
   That bell’s toll, ringing in my mind,
   Knocked me down, unwilling, back to the ground:

Where, seeing my Love’s vulnerable state,
Driven mad by sharp pain, I challenged fate,
Kneeling mockingly in either jest or spite
   The dreams, obscured, that we
   Hold dear and aim to achieve.

She spoke but quickly held back; then, as if in her own space,
A lady’s hands would clasp, My Lady’s own
Pressed against her yielding side; her serious tone
And eager forward expression pleaded
For me to kneel where she worshiped.

Despite her pain, she comforted me with gentle words, As I was the one to bring back the joy to her weary eyes, p. 71 And wisely, in my strength as a man, Be a sturdy tree for my drooping vine.

But no; sunk, diminished, small, and simple, beside
Her couch I sat and watched her eyes widen
With awe, and heard her voice flow like the tide
   Of steady music, rich and soothing
    In some grand cathedral hymn.

Then, as that grand cathedral hymn fills
The dark, arched aisles, and gradually swells
Into a wave of harmony the listener recognizes,
Her voice overwhelmed by anger, and I
Understood its meaning with curiosity.

“Ah, pause in fear before you rush in too quickly
The paths of fate; for how can they be understood
That are rooted in the life of the All-Powerful?
Or can a tiny particle of earth's soul
Comprehend the entire universe?”

p. 72“The more he struggles, the more his chains bother him
The unfortunate prisoner trapped within dungeon walls,
And battling with chains and stones, he falls in defeat.
Neither will that pointless sacrifice
Affect his high position as a victor.

“Woe to the twisted one, who, weak and blind,
In pride refuses to see, will find
The heavy weight of circumstance will push
   Him down; and if he doesn’t change his ways, must
   Smash and break him into dust.

“We belong to the Lord, not to ourselves; His angels sing;
So you, my own, humbly bow to your King,
And if you work hard and long, His grace will come:
His voice will ring out through the battle cry,
When the conflict is at its peak.”

She paused for a moment, her excitement overwhelming her words into silent pleading: I felt like soldiers who have fallen in battle, When far away, their leader's sword, shining like a gem, Points to glory that will never be theirs. p. 73

“When the clear blue sky is open to your eyes,
And light is shining all around, you can be wise;
But when the storms in their usual way come up,
To you, the wind just sobs and grieves
Mourning with the rustling leaves.

“Rust eats away at the steel, and moths ruin the fabric,
And nagging doubts wreck the soul that’s reluctant
To work for duty, drowned in shameful laziness,
And sprawls a tired, hopeless wretch,
While others harvest the ripe grain.”

“It’s not in a man’s nature to dream peacefully;
He works hard and mutters, as he wanders,
A fleeting shine on the flowing stream
   In massive, serious waves and thunder,
   Always moving on without a shore.”

p. 74“The small plant growing in the dark sends out shoots;
In the heavy darkness, it weakly reaches for a ray
Of golden light from the outside world
   That shines endlessly and beautifully
   On the dancing particles of time.”

The music stopped and turned into a gentle smile
Of warmth, which she used to hide
Her pain from me: I looked like someone for a moment
   Who’s escaped, seeing two rainbows shine
   Over his shipwreck lost in the sea.

My lost soul sank down in silent seas
To ruined piles covered with ancient remnants
Of wealth: by gentle, massive ocean trees;
By anchors made long ago,
Turned into trails of rusted slime:

To where, what felt like a tomb, in this deep darkness
Of night, carried a faint name I fear to mention:
And there I heard the sound of a gigantic bell,
   p. 75Whose thunder echoed through my mind
   Mocked me back to reality again.

Here, everything felt emptier than the void
Of mist before a midnight moon faded:
Here, life was as strange as death, and more troubled
   My spirit, now barely aware she
   Still pleaded with me.

“It's life to know that the King is just,
And won't bring his helpless dust to life
With fire unquenchable whose passion must
Achieve great deeds that inspire
Universal shouts of praise:

“Cheers of approval that come together to tell a story,
Sung by someone on a high viewpoint
Who, shining in the light of the rising sun,
   Looks down on the attentive crowd
   Piercing through the patches of fading cloud:

p. 76“And fires, through his songs, inspire a noble rivalry
With baser instincts, the energized crowd,
That intensifies in character and similarity
   To those great souls whose victories
   Still resonate in melodies:

“This fire won’t be allowed to cause suffering,
To end up as cold, dead ash and bitterness:
He won’t give true love that longs to bless
   The world, just so it can sigh
   Back into itself and die.”

The words here stumbled into whispers:
Her soul quietly spoke to itself alone
In some vast emptiness, dark and unfamiliar;
Whose boundaries, far from human sight
Reach the blissful hills of light.

“I, working hard at the task given to me,
Am called away from my work unexpectedly:
The King calls back his handmaiden; and she
   p. 77Submissively
   Anoints herself,
   Going wherever He directs.

“The harvest is gathered now, her job is complete,
The day is ending, and she has to leave,
To bow down before the Holy One,
   And faithfully receive her due reward
   There in truth.”

Dead silence, even more intense than if a thunderclap
Had shattered the summer air, my senses came alive
To sudden worry: heavy was the burden
   Of misery I had to endure;
   Overwhelmed by anger, in my despair

I went and, leaning out from the window, thought
About my endless sorrow; I blamed
God, who, like a human king, misused
His all-powerful authority, and spread
Misery everywhere.

p. 78Then glancing toward her danger thought, “A cell
Of toxic fumes this dull life; she might as well
Escape: so pure! she hardly could stay
With sinful beings who always
Stumbling take the stain of dirt

“But I unworthy! How could I—
How could I risk guiding her on her high
Cold path of duty leading to the sky!
As well hold a torch to light a star
Shining, mystic, nebular.

“She longs to bring joy to the world: just love for everyone
Best expressed in love for one; love never fades
Like sunshine over half this amazing globe,
   But her instincts crave to bless
   All of humanity. Strange compassion!”

This embarrassing mockery of myself
Was interrupted by a sobbing sound
That led me to her couch, where my own
   p. 79Sweet Love lay faint and pale,
   Eyelids shutting out the light.

Ah, rough, tough, bitter, harsh self! A beast
In passion, no, much worse than that, to feast
On unfounded anger against her whose slightest
   Casual word was kind; her daily nourishment
   Interest in someone else's well-being.

My passion back then, like a wild horse
Tamed by a master’s touch, lost its intensity;
Its strength faded, leaving me overwhelmed with regret;
Terrified and hopeless, “Love,” I shouted,
Frantically working by her side;

And kissed and rubbed her forehead; I rubbed her hand;
Overcome with fear, I loosened the band
That held her delicate waist, and carefully examined
Each feature, until her opening eyes
Met mine in bright surprise

p. 80“Oh you! I had to go through endless nothing, and I was thrown around by the world while you hung above with your smug expression, looking down at me with intense hatred, declaring that I was getting what I deserved.”

We met like two bodies of water coming together,
In a long-lasting jolt, with whispers of joy,
Sweet confusion blended in perfect unity
   That changing times can't pull apart;
   One in love and forever together.

Cleared by regret, love gave me strength; and now
A gentle power came to calm the troubled waves
Of some dark undercurrent on her brow;
   Her soul, triumphant over pain
   Shone again with golden smiles.

We sat and read how Prospero ended his conflict
With evil, cast his spell, and fulfilled his life
By bringing two beautiful people together as husband and wife:
p. 81Of brave Count Gismond’s joyful fate;
And the Lady of Shalott.

We stopped; the evening had quietly arrived.
I noticed, as I lifted her, a warm glow
Burning in her cheeks, carrying the heavy treasure
   Of everything in the universe to me;
   I held her for a long time, gently lingering:

And putting down more than my life, her weight;
Barely kissed her pale hands, then moved with great
Unwillingness, foreboding, from her calm state;
   But, before my slow feet reached the door,
   Turned and caught one last look more,

And I stood in awe, watching the ominous figure
From her large eyes, fixed and staring through the darkness
Love, bound to eternal despair,
p. 82As if she were looking from beyond the grave:
Falling at her feet, I said,

“Please bless me, dear Love, before I leave;
Shower me with your divine love and comfort,
So I can find guidance and support as I go through pain,
   Lift me up and purify me in grace,
   So I am worthy to see your face.”

She lowered her head with graceful tenderness
Softly whispering as her hands pressed my brow,
“I hope that He will bless your lonely spirit,
And if it's my fate to leave you,
Please pray for me while I wait.”

A useless pain inside her no longer to awaken,
I pulled myself away, not daring to take
Another glance for her beloved's sake;
   My face revealed the distress
   Of a swollen heart struggling in my chest.

p. 83When I was outside, I felt like someone Suddenly awakened from a dream, where the sun Had faded, leaving the earth dull and lifeless. The nightjar Only echoed through the air from a distance:

No other sound was present: a soft breeze
Rustled through the bushes and shivered up the trees,
Then drifted towards the ghostly white mist of the meadow,
   Where one long swath of gloomy cloud
   Wrapped the horizon in a shroud.

A single eye of cold, harsh light
Gazed menacingly beyond the Western ridge,
Shrouded in the deepening night;
   And all the tranquil land was asleep
   Except that eye, which kept a watchful guard.

I wandered tiredly, not knowing where;
Up windy hills, far-reaching, bleak and bare;
Through swamps that soaked under still air;
p. 84In darkest woods and tangled mess,
Thorny bushes scratched my flesh:

Amid the growing corn, I heard it sigh,
Empty and mournful, as night moved slowly:
Empty and mournfully sighed the corn while I
   Moved gloomily in the midst, a blight
   Darkening even more the loathsome night.

My soul poured out its hidden secrets on
The deep darkness of night: old dreams glimmered,
And sacred ancient hopes faded away;
Old hopes that had long stopped burning,
Gone, and never coming back.

No starlight broke through the thick sky above,
And everything I loved was either gone or slipping away:
So I kept walking wherever the path took me;
And I wandered until my own home
Emerged, ghostly and pale, from the road.

p. 85When I finally got home, I saw the morning
Faintly breaking in the gloomy East. Exhausted
I entered the empty house feeling lost,
   Heartbroken and tired, I went to my room,
   It would have been better if it were my tomb.

I lay there, and whenever my eyelids would close
In dull forgetfulness to a sleepy doze,
Lonely sounds of phantom bells disturbed my peace;
   Until my tired nature, deeply worn,
   Slowly sank and finally rested.

“Gone the sickness, fled the pain,
Health comes bouncing back again,
And all my pulses tingle with delight.
Together what a nice thing
To stroll while the blackbirds sing,
And pasture lands are sparkling with dewy brightness!

“Soon the clear spring weather will arrive,
Hand in hand we’ll walk together,
And hand in hand will talk about springs yet to come;
Like the morning when you played
The magician with my spirit,
In mindless shadow staring silently.”

p. 88“Get rid of that gloomy worry,
Or, I swear, you won't be allowed in my garden
When the lilies bloom,
And I go there to stand and sing
Songs to the beautiful, bright sky;
You, the would-be wizard with the wrinkled forehead!”

The scholars say she will soon
Fade away and be forgotten.
   To satisfy the empty desire
Of Death, the roses in her cheeks are seen
To glow so brightly, blossoming deeper in hue.

All hope and doubt, all fears are pointless:
The dreams I held of honoring her are gone,
And won't bring me comfort anymore.
I see a harsh sunlight cast its last
Wild glow across the land, where shadows grow long quickly.

It doesn't seem so terrible now
The horror is completely exposed, raw, and unmoving:
I feel pretty calm and wonder how
p. 90My fear fooled around with my determination.
The North winds blow hard, but I don't feel their chill.

All things must die: somewhere I read
What wise and serious people say about joy;
No sooner born, they say, than dead:
The struggle of existence, just a spinning toy
Making a tired sound spun by a fickle kid.

Has my soul reached a starry height
Majestically calm? No monster, dark
And formless, glares at me faintly at night;
I’m not in the sunlight, worried in fear
That that monstrous, formless thing is lurking nearby?

No; woe is me! It's quite the opposite:
The sheer horror numbs me to my core;
In a tranquil stupor, its cold, empty eyes
Stare fiercely into mine. I neither fall nor groan,
Our island's Gorgon has turned me to stone.

Now thickening around the shrunken, empty sky,
Dark clouds crawl
Climbing into heavy masses,
Gloomy in their giant spread,
That cover up the dome of heaven's speckled height
And gather like mortal armies lined up for battle.

This dim light spreads eerily across the land;
Sheep are gathered close; and herds
Collect, moaning sadly and blandly.
The birds are silent
In the ghostly trees that don’t make a sound:
And decayed leaves fall straight to the ground.

p. 92Drab and serious runs a dull sound,
Heard through a breathless silence,
Raging streams hissing far in lavish groans,
Foamed with a wild rush,
Crying out against their end,
Their lonely, gloomy lament.

This gloom has drained all interest from the scene,
Now turned a harsh grey:
Familiar things, that once were so clear,
Fade away in the mist:
At ambush, lurking from its stormy hideout,
Some danger hangs heavy in the still air.

It does little good for me to know
That electric law
Where the sharp flash and thunderclap
Hidden energy draws;
No less my danger. Ha! that lightning flash
Proclaims in flames the approaching thunder crash.

p. 93But what do I care if torrents rain down Turning the earth to mud, Even if heaven crashes with the thunder's roar Burning now with fire, Even if every planet melts away from its spot Should drift lost through endless space;

For this empty view, filled only with fear,
   Empty like any grave,
My soul has departed; and by a lonely bed,
   In a girl’s sick room,
It waits, anticipating her last breath,
The silent sign of doom, the moment of death.

All is just a superficial display. I look
Into the green light shining
From the leaves above my head,
And feel that its deepest value left
My existence when she passed away.
This heart, now heated and withered,
Stops, like the dry path where a stream
Once used to flow among flowers,
Because her life is now
No more than tales in a printed book.

Grass grows thickly and proudly over that chest,
Cold and lifeless,
My happy face felt a thrill.
How much her dear, dear mouth revealed!
p. 98And now are closed and settled
Lips that my own have touched!
Her eyelids pressed by the damp earth!
Damp earth weighs on her eyes;
Damp earth blocks out the skies.
My Lady rests her heavy, heavy rest.

To see her incredible beauty glide
Across the favored earth, as she
Met me with open arms!
How can I help but remember and cry?
The gentle magic of her hands
Made all my worries disappear.
Her feet barely touched the little things that crawl;
“For stars aren't,” she’d say,
“More amazing than they are.”
And now she rests her deep, deep sleep.

Immortal hope shone on that forehead,
Above whose fading forms
Real worms crawl softly.
p. 99Surely it was a harsh blow
That took my Darling’s life
Quickly, like a knife;
I loathe my own that allows me to thrive
Like a bitter root
From which foul poisons sprout
On the grave where she rests.

Ah, unfortunate fate! Could it be fair,
That her young life should unfold
Its simple, natural path;
Then, with an unforeseen jolt,
Be abruptly taken away;
Even as her emotions connected
With those nearby, whose love would believe
Her willing ability to bring joy,
For all their happiness?
Alone she fades into ordinary dust.

Small birds chirp and peck at the weeds
That sway above this bed
p. 100Where
my dear Love lies dead:
They flutter and pop the round seeds,
And knock down the fluffy heads
Of dandelions, wide:
From grass, weighed down with dew,
The wet droplets drip
In sparkles off the tips:
In mallow blooms, the wild bee drops in and feeds.

No longer does she hear, where vines decorate
Her window, on the branches
Birds chirp and wake her up:
Flies, buzzing, growing louder with the morning,
She will not hear again
Randomly tapping on the glass:
No longer will her gown
Playfully wave against the freshly cut
Grass edges,
As she steps out to see what flowers have bloomed.

p. 101Don’t think anymore about those dark green rings
Uniquely stained on the grass,
To imagine fairy joy;
While a gentle breeze sings through the grass,
And swarms of insects enjoy themselves
Along the hot ground:
I won't watch their bright wings anymore,
Now dipping lightly, now soaring,
Then sinking, and rising again.
My Lady’s death makes these simple things precious.

One afternoon, under the wide shade of an oak,
Engrossed in pleasant conversation,
We took a break from our stroll.
Beyond the shadow, calm and steady,
Cows slowly chewed their cud,
Looking relaxed and content:
Graceful deer wandered across the meadow,
Or stood with wide, bright eyes
Staring in mild surprise;
And up the fern-covered slope, playful rabbits frolicked.

p. 102As crows cawed, struggling through the heat;
   Every flap of their wings seemed to
   Make their tired bodies ache;
And swallows, though so fast,
   Made breathless stops there
   At something in the air.
All vanished: our pulses raced
   With clearer beats, and each
   Turned and kissed without saying a word,
She trembling from her mouth down to her feet.

Then, as I felt her chest rise,
And listened to the noise
Of lively joy inside,
Could I but believe in my happiness,
Reassured by that calm
Within my heart, and those
Warm arms around my neck! While evening
In shadowy silence arrived
And put out the Western light,
That lingered around her as if reluctant to go.

p. 103Then I spoke in a quiet voice
About that upcoming time,
When joyful bells would chime
To announce our wedding day,
In joyful sounds filling the air
We would declare ourselves
Bound to each other by a solemn vow:
And she, trusting and gentle,
Leaned her cheek against mine,
And replied only with happy tears.

No attention did we pay to time, because
Those ringing bells had completely
Captivated us with joy.
A happiness so perfect astounds
The weakening pulse and breath,
Like the silent fate of death:
Then, in a sudden pause
A quick Eternity flashed
Before my empty gaze;
And jumping, as if caught by demonic claws,

p. 104Awakened from a dizzy daze,
I felt overwhelming fears
With ringing in my ears,
And wondered why the bright moon
Swung across the night sky
With such incredible force.
Next came, like the sweet breath of June,
A deceptive calm
That created a disgusting feeling,
Some unknown danger would soon engulf us.

She faded away like summer flowers.
Her looks and her voice
Will never bring joy again,
For she lies silent in cold decay.
The golden bowl
That held her sacred soul is shattered:
It was a foolish claim to say
“Our souls are the same,”
And it now fills me with shame:
Her spirit left, and mine did not follow.

p. 105The harsh reality, like a blazing arrow,
pierced through my thoughts,
when I saw her come
From where she no longer had life.
Her beauty gradually faded,
worn down by illness:
The heavy weight in her chest
hollowed out her cheeks,
and left her eyelids weak,
though they often opened wide in sudden shock.

The deadly power in silence took
  My Lady’s life away.
  I watched, speechless with shock,
The thrill that ran through
  Her frail body, and shook
  The meaning in her expression,
As the moment approached, closer and closer.
  Oh, terrible suspense!
  Oh, dizzy helplessness!
I saw her face relax and change color.

p. 106Her gaze, heavy with destiny, was directed
Where my silent suffering
Made her sad eyes even sadder:
Her breath came in quick gasps,
Then one hot, choking cry;
She never took another breath.
I had the expression that was her last:
Her love, when her breath was gone,
Shone for a moment,
Then slowly faded, and hope was lost forever.

A terrifying shudder echoed through the universe
When the sorrowful bell
tolled for My Lady’s soul.
The bright world felt like hell; her beauty
Was just a deceptive shine
And a tease of a dream:
Oblivion hit me like a hammer,
And like a tree that’s cut down
I fell, unconscious,
And lay for a long time cold on my face.

p. 107Earth had turned a quarter before
My miserable fate
Came crashing down on me.
I regained my senses; and shivering
I felt a pain to endure
The sun's harsh, cruel glare,
Which shone not warm like before;
And never again will its rays
Satisfy my gaze:
No more; no more; O, never again.

What are you softly whispering to your baby,
O pale girl-mother, with downcast eyes?
Why are you pressing his pale
Cheek against your even whiter breast?
Ah, it must be sweet; to feel him drink
The nourishment that strengthens his delicate limbs! And it brings
Joy to your heart with his deeply dimpled laughter,
Responding immediately to your gentle touch?
Does he understand that soothing sound,
As you hush him, patting him to sleep?

What visions captivate your gaze, now resting wide
In settled sweet content? Do you see
Your child, now grown into a man, walking sunlit slopes
p. 110With something more beautiful than visions; as lovely as
The truth, oh Love, when you smile on me?
Or do you see him even greater, filled with strength,
And boldly moving forward to reach
That brightly colored flag, whose waving tops
Represent the glittering heights of fame that men long for;
Unaware of the tempests that rage and sweep around;
Alas, what dream has made that watery veil
Hide the light of your eyes from mine; just like a mist
Passing between me and a harvest moon!
And where did this shadowy wall come from that blocks my view?
Why do you fade away, yourself, oh Love?
Where has your child gone—and where are you?—
Where am I?—Is it life—a dream—or death?

Oh, how miserable this crushing despair is!
And I’m an even bigger fool than someone who longs
For rainbows stretched across the sky!
p. 111Ah, hope, how sickening you are! My spirit led astray
By tempting hope drifts close to some dark fate:
And hope mixed with despair has mingled
My life so long with lifelessness, that I
Can barely separate the present from my past,
Nor what might have been from what is now.

Ah, Dearest! Will I never see your face
Again: not ever; never again?
I know that the hopes I had were just illusions, born
From past wishes: I know your earthly form
Is decaying in its grave; but still, O Love,
Your spirit must be somewhere in this vast
World, filling the overwhelming skies
With light and movement; it could never die;
And will you not grant me one shining glance
To soothe a lonely heart that aches
For your absence, and only you, O Love?
Or have you found in that pure life you live
That my soul was an unworthy choice for yours,
And so you don't care about its despair?
p. 112And yet, yes truly, your love was real;
I would not do you wrong with any other thought:
I would not enter through the gates of heaven
Believing anything other than that your love was real.
But I get no response to my pleas,
Leaving my soul empty, cold,
And without comfort.
         Just empty, like this grate,
Of life, where the fire has almost gone out,
Leaving only a gaping void and ruin:
And as weak as the flickering of these candle flames
Half sunk in their sockets, by whose light
I see, though dimly, where my books stand lined up
Most silent; though sometimes they speak to me;
And where my pictures hang with other forms
Different from what I know: where friends captured
Like ghosts loom over me from another world.
So what is left, but, like a child worn out
From crying, that I sink down to rest,
To sleep, not dream—and if I could, to die?

I had been sitting by her grave
In a haze one dark night;
When sudden tremors shook the fate
Of cold, heavy, settled gloom,
That weighed on my sight:

And while I sat, feeling weak and restless
Disturbing my spirit’s laziness,
A wind blew from far-off fields,
That hissing, tore and whipped the leaves
And whipped the underbrush:

It roared and howled, it raged around
With some determined aim;
p. 114And storming through the night, brought out
The moon, which like a joyful shout,
Called out My Lady’s name,

In a burst of brightness on the stone.
Then, for a moment, I
Grabbed and gathered my past, covered
With hopes and kisses, a struggling sigh,
And pain: as quickly,

Crushed by an overwhelming weight,
The building fell;
When it was touched, as if by Fate's hand,
My sadness vanished. I felt so light
That I wept with joy.

The loud winds, exhausted from trying to find rest,
Dropped dead. My feverish forehead
Sipped coolness from the grass it lay on;
And in my empty heart
A change started to take shape,

p. 115While I felt those tears slowly drip
The weight of sorrow that had
A heavy curse resting inside me,
Except when memories stirred my mind
For intense moments of madness.

My tears, like treasures from a shipwreck
That slept in the ocean,
Flowed freely without restraint;
And the earth was my good mother’s neck
To which I held on and cried.

I finally got up and felt a heavy, lifeless weight. And now the night air was thick with tension! A quiet song that surrounded me and hit me like a punch:

Through my tightly shut eyelids, the vibrant air
In gold and purple rings
p. 116Danced rhythmically around me there,
The light it carried pulsed with the brightness
And the beat of fast-moving wings.

I didn't dare to lift my eyes;
My lady's gaze was fixed on me
With a calm and steady look,
And reminded me of sunny days
From my childhood.

A breathless moment; and I was spun
Around the faint emptiness of space;
In spinning circles wildly tossed,
I saw the starry universe
With every celestial body’s embrace,

To one incredible whirlpool of light,
Spinning a blazing ram,
Then falter, hit by sudden darkness;
When swung down with full force,
Earth’s touch vibrated through my mind.

p. 117The faint sound in my ears shattered
By her ominous voice;
As sweet as death to someone cursed,
As to someone near blind from thirst
The sound of running water.

Her voice in some clear star,
Far away, beyond my sight,
Was singing beautifully afar;
And yet so oddly close to jar,
Like a light that’s way too bright.

She sang a song. She hummed softly,
She didn’t sing any words;
I felt it spark in my spirit,
And recognized it, just like I know
The morning calls of birds.

But it's a tough job I'm taking on,
To use my human words to reach
p. 118The expressing of my Love, and make
Her deep and eternal essence clear
Through what I say!

I can't do it anymore, with a sparkling metaphor
   That runs into the darkness,
Reveal its depth, than those who could hope,
Who wander in lifelong blindness,
   To sing of rising suns.

“Before the life my King had given
Was lifted into rest,
His message came through my lips,
And on your path, His glory went
To lead you to the blessed.

“But you turned your face and looked down on
His divine grace as if it meant nothing;
And set your gaze on the forsaken earth,
And raged against fate, until you became gaunt and worn,
Death lingered in your thoughts.

p. 119“You, blindly ignorant, played with mud,
And in the eerie light
Of death’s darkness you embraced decay;
And many full moons passed by,
And left you in your dream.

“For with your Lily’s worldly dress
You filled your sight;
And to turn away from knowing its beauty
Would just be an empty brag unless
It’s brought to life by His will.

“You didn’t mourn the lost soul
That belonged to my Lord through you;
But you mourned more for the shattered pleasure-bowl,
Whose golden richness spilled, when intact,
Its brilliance into your wine.

“And so, you were created
To experience the cup of death;
p. 120And so the glory faded,
From guidance into deadly shadows
That chilled your trembling breath.

“Allowed, now I come to you:
I warn you of your sin;
I urge you to cleanse your sight,
That purified, your soul may see
The way to win his love.

“His love, beyond understanding
Never turned away
From the penitent who suffered harm;
But springs up like a desert well
For the thirsty poor lost soul.”

“Let anyone who looks down on mercy shown,
Unhappy soul, take heed!
For whoever lives in pride alone,
Their pride will harden into a stone
Too heavy for them to bear.

p. 121“And whoever has been warned,
   Yet still refuses to change,
Behind their shadow, small and low,
A brooding ghost will be shown
   With a pale, menacing glare.

“Troubled one, who is close to me
Just like my Lord’s own grace,
Oh turn to Him, and He will be
A refuge from your misery,
A smile on your face!

“A righteous strength will strengthen your arm,
And courage fill your heart:
And having bravely fought against harm,
The cries of victory shall enchant
Your dying eyes to rest.

“And those he saved will honor his name
Who, working for them, died.
p. 122And, sung with honor, his true legacy
Shall resonate in hearts yet to come, and earn
Their love and gratitude.

“And love will guide her sacrifice
To where a shining line
Stands inviting her to the heights of happiness;
And she will take his hands and kiss
A welcome on his brow.”

I didn't know when the singing stopped
To enchant my brightened soul,
Then freed from that long darkness.
But looking hopefully towards the East,
I saw color spread from pole to pole.

The dawn, that had started to appear,
And burned through the damp mist,
Like a healthy blush on a pale face,
The deep red would shine,
When vibrant life came back.

p. 123Small drowsy chirping greeted the light,
And faintly in the lowlands afar
Lonely marsh-birds spread their misty flight;
When her image came into view,
Shining like the morning star.

It faded into the singing day;
That, rising fierce and strong,
Now drove the Western darkness away,
And sparked such a lively tune,
The world woke up with song,

And fresh, tasty breezes came
With scents of paradise
So tingling through my body,
That never since I spoke a name
Have I known such joy arise.

The sky above was crystal clear;
   The earth below was bright;
p. 124While I focused on my determination,
And walked like someone brought back to life,
   In silence on the ground.

I walked home, filled with happiness
   With hope and a clear plan:
And respecting the will of Fate,
With every step I took, I carried my weight,
   A thoughtful man.

Our world has spun ten times around the sun
Since she disappeared. In my helpless gaze,
This carved stone was placed to mark the spot,
Raw, bright, and stubbornly noticeable then,
Now blending gently with the surroundings.
A spray of creeping ivy makes its way
From death to life, reaching for her name;
With a gentle touch, its tender leaves brush
The edge of the letter—I can hardly believe it’s a coincidence.

Now, scene by scene, that strange distant past,
Crowding my open memory, shows up
Chaotic, like in dreams, some awful state
Where I couldn’t tell lies from the truth;
p. 128Where hope rising hit the star of Love,
Then plunged down into despair;
But eventually stood up and walked the well-worn path.
These memories feel so dim and distant; so worn and changed,
I can barely believe I’m the one who sought
And won her love. And is it really true,
That I, wrapped in the most tender moments,
With trusting looks and holding hands,
Wandered with her by the riverside;
While overhead, singing branches rang out,
Scattering the gold of sunset-lit flowers
Releasing their sweet fragrance along our way,
Leading to where, in purple woods,
The rugged church tower glowed like a wall of fire!

Did I, when silence filled the winter woods,
And giant shadows crossed the frosty ground
From trunks and branches whose cover held in the night,
Love to see the bright magic moon
Casting sparkle on the silver frost?
   Yes; amid the sounds and lush green of spring,
p. 129With rushing brooks celebrating through the fields,
And the rainy wind that roared like the ocean
Bearing down the treetops all day long,
Through scattered glimmers, through random patches of shade,
Joyfully I walked the shining paths.
   Yes, it was me, in a dreamy golden haze,
Seeing poor people working hard all the hours,
And thought they were happier than the birds that sang,
That sang and chirped in bursts of joy.

Loitering, I lingered in the golden hour
Long after the beloved nightingale had stopped
Pouring his passionate song over the fields
Of swaying corn, now heavy with ripeness;
As sunset-colored fruit in orchard groves
Slowly matured under bright blue afternoons;
And, quiet among dark leaves, the dreaming air
Gently swelled to a whisper and then faded.
With joy, I wandered from hill to hill
p. 130And lost in wonder, drank in the soft winds,
The magical winds that told me all was well.
I didn’t notice when the heavy horizon darkened
In gloomy clouds filling up the sky;
But I woke suddenly when a lifeless pallor spread
From angry storm clouds that cast the whole land in shadow;
When war, massive war, burst forth from the heavens,
In sheets of fire and booming thunder,
With shock after shock, crushing the ripened corn,
And sweeping the lush midsummer into destruction.
That wrenched great timbers that had stood for a thousand years,
Shaking the solid foundations of the earth.
And when at last the terrible storm hit,
The wide sky was stripped of the sun and stars,
And more empty than all their light to me.

Like worried me to empty weariness When my sweet Dove of Paradise left, Ascending, glory-guarded, to heaven. p. 131Then feeding on the past, and holding onto death, I grew in sickening horror: soon I had become, By foul self decay, a charnel ghoul, If not for Almighty God, gracious in love, Allowing her own presence once again, Mysterious like a vision, yet once more To come as a shining warning and reveal Across my path unfathomable abysses, And spark hope with which I might still achieve The hills that shine forever for the blessed.

I've been striving a lot since those events
Controlled the rhythm of my daily life:
Now they feel like a tacky story,
Gossiped about by the rudest people.
A haunting song of past happiness
Drew me, almost without realizing it, down here to reflect
On my shattered dreams; safe from the noise
Of interests in our harsh city,
The beating heart of England and the world.
I haven't seen it since that incredible night
p. 132When her comfort filled my soul;
Yet here I am again beside her grave—
And here I reflect, wiser and less sad.

Hers was a welcoming and peaceful home!
Full of kindness and thoughtful gestures
And well-known for its generous hospitality.
A refreshing calm filled the space;
And pleasant tasks were done quickly and sincerely,
With every action driven by unseen forces
Handled with care, everything flowed effortlessly.

The steward of that grand country house
Looked right at home there, like lichen on an oak.
He first took on this role, caring and trusted,
On the day his baby mistress was born;
And he loved her like a father loves his child,
Holding that respect we have
For those born into higher status than ours,
Who carry their good fortune with grace.
Her affection for him was always generously given
p. 133In abundant gratitude for all he did:
How brightly his shrewd grey eyes sparkled,
And how round and cheerful his honest cheeks
Joined in the joyful laughter of his mouth!
In childhood adventures, he was usually
Her chosen companion, despite all the charm;
And for her charming ways, he would set aside
His grand oversight of wine and tableware,
To watch over her, singing, where summer sprawled
On fragrant, whispering linden trees, and under elms,
Ancient and strong with centuries of might,
And crows calling out from their shadowy perches.
By fragrant slopes, their feet deep in grass, they roamed,
Chatting lightly, and she, sweet child,
Pouring all her focus into joy,
Until they reached the lake, which sparkled
With water-lilies, sunlight, and shifting clouds.
Then the nearby reeds and sedge
Burst forth with ducks and wild exotic birds,
That scampered and splashed in a frenzied chase
p. 134To snatch up the crumbled bread,
He had sneakily provided for fun:
The swans, meanwhile, grand and slow,
Moved proudly into action, but unfortunately,
To little effect, for by chance the bread
Fell to lesser beaks during the scuffle.
“Our bread has all been cast onto the water now,
And I really wish I knew how many days
It'll stay there before it's found again!”—
A dull joke from some fool repeated: poor man,
Not versed in serious matters, never realized
How the Abyssinian mountains' roots
Swell with fresh rains from Nubian lands,
And thunder down from cliff to cliff;
How sacred Nile flooding banks and plains
Turned ancient Egypt into a shining sea:
And slaves, treated like dirt,
Paddled through the water, scattering grain,
While their sad eyes caught a glimpse
Of temple sphinxes, palms, and pyramids,
Faint sacrificial fires with mournful cries;
p. 135And small cruel masters, armed with bloodied whips,
Joking and fierce, drove them to their utmost limits.
Long before man heard of this promised hope,
The first will be last, and the last will be first..
But the dear child absorbed his empty chatter
In wonder, believing it was deep wisdom:
And forever after, when in solemn church,
(The very church I see right now!)
Or during family prayers, these words came up,
Vivid visions of quacking birds
Amid splashing water, reeds, and lily stars would intrude.

As they made their way home, he filled her lap with flowers;
And she, before they reached the house, slipped free
From his protective hold, raced ahead, darted through
The porch, and with a joyful shout brightened
The room, where her parents were sitting, either chatting or reading.
Then, just as she had seen those mirrored wonders of the lake
p. 136All trembling blend into a chaotic mix
Of beauty scattered in shattered light,
When the hungry birds swept over its surface,
So muddled with shifting reflections, so entangled
In eagerness, her excited story
Poured out to her caring mother, who, embracing her,
Felt pleased that her child had enjoyed herself.
Then the big father would gently lift
His darling girl onto his knee; with his fingers he’d cup
Her tiny chin and kiss her rosebud mouth;
And softly his large tawny hand would stroke
The woven sunlight glowing down her back,
Which turned to deep auburn with a golden shine,
Calling her playful names. But, when finally
The calm, ever-present nurse appeared,
He laughed; and she, laughing loudly, flew
By his strong arm, lifted high above his head,
Tangled in the wildflowers that had spilled from her lap,
Which, shaking them off, he brought her down,
And playfully swung her into eager arms.
p. 137She shared these childhood memories while we walked
Through the places that inspired them; for she loved
To reflect on things others might overlook:
But in her presence, told in her own words,
With clear, fitting phrases and a satisfying voice;
The graceful angle of her head
Gesturing brightly to make the point;
Her hovering white hand
Almost singing along with her words,
And pouring out all her tender care to please;—
Now, one by one, these memories shine
In sacred splendor, and have made less dark
A life I feel is not entirely in vain.

So common was her mother’s fate that who
Can say “What I have is different” is truly blessed:
For there are countless people who have cast
Their passion into shadows, forever chilled!
Hardly in her prime, and years before she met
The man she was destined to marry, she
p. 138fell in love with a young man full of bright talent,
Who set out on grand adventures, sails wide open;
But he needed steadying, a dose of common sense,
And when storms hit, he sank and was lost.
For a long time, her heart was weighed down by his fate; it drained
Her strength and left her feeling vague and desolate:
Her life turned into cold, restless dreams
From which there was no escape. Yet it must be said,
In a humble and genuinely gentle way,
She was a caring and dutiful wife,
And with a sweet and poignant grace,
She performed every task. I hope her mind,
Suppressed by constant, unacknowledged sadness,
Became free from shadows and could finally focus
On the future, which in one clear path
Led to Justice crowned in everlasting light,
And learned to understand that punishment is love.
In part due to lethargy; and partly out of a sense
Of duty in forgetting her grief;
With gentle appeals to her own kindness,
She decided to take another as her husband;
p. 139Then she surrendered herself completely and married
Her husband’s own unyielding will:
He, having won her over, cherished her, and loved
Her gentle compliance with the strength of life.

He was a strong man with a solid build
Made dark from battle. Under Indian suns
Our enemies had often learned to know
The force of his arm, unstoppable when he charged
At them with his sword and fierce gaze.
But when his father died, he left the East
For England; here to manage his own estate,
And lead among the local gentlemen,
Who proudly came to acknowledge him as their leader.
He had the commanding presence of a natural leader,
With sharp eyes and a strong neck;
A keen insight backed by solid common sense;
Vast knowledge, and the skillful use of it,
To overcome obstacles, or direct the power
Of will determined to achieve every goal.
Moreover, he had a broad and generous nature
p. 140Who would kindly tip the balance
Against himself: no tenant ever lamented
The day their new master took over;
Nor did the old village gossips ever complain
That good times vanished with their departed lord.
Culture went hand in hand with his strength:
He was well-versed in science; in rock and soil,
Plants, shells, birds, beasts, to the complex form of man,
With a bit of understanding of the stars. He mostly
Read historical texts; often digging for traces
Of long-gone footsteps in archaeology.
He loved the poets of our native land
Who elevate our souls to the worth of life;
And those deep thinkers whose conclusions reveal
The fundamental principles that govern the world.
He valued the hardworking Hallam; but claimed
Carlyle was a bit mad; “A jumble of restless thoughts,
That touch on nothing sound or practical,
Told in outrageous jargon, cumbersome
As any Laplander’s outfit!” Which I
p. 141In ruffled pride would always counter,
“Sound or unsound, his words are clear truths,
That breeding heroes was once England’s pride,
And now we boast about creating millionaires.
Your ‘practical’ means the shortest path to wealth:
But too often, money robs the heart;
One becoming heavy drains the other dry.
His style, rich with poetic meaning, often
Only needs a note of admiration to hint
At more than your favorite’s page crammed with ideas.”
At this he bursts into a scornful, roaring laugh,
The table shaking, and the dishes clinking
As his heavy arm fell: with a massive gaze,
In a chaotic sort of way, he joked with me:
“Young dreamer, plotting poetic lines,
What do you know of laws? What do you know of plans
Which manage these varied interests of ours,
Through crossing currents aimed at certain goals,
To create this state we call society,
The full outcome of time immemorial?
p. 142Know, here on earth wealth must not be looked down on,
For we are who we are. While men survive
By exchanging goods and services, gold
Will be the lubricant that keeps the whole machine running.
I admit a few, the greatest, live content
To share what has matured in their minds;
But greed alone causes each result to flourish
And spread its uses throughout the masses. Additionally,
Where honor, reason, or instinctive life,
Completely fails, gold will stir the lazy fool.
It rouses the drowsy idler of the East,
Who lounges in the sun, idle as a gourd,
To work like Irish laborers. Awakened, he hears
Coins ringing melodically; he gets to work,
And digs, and hews, and grinds: he sees, not far,
Himself, a commander of horsemen richly dressed,
Armed with long spears and silver-handled blades,
Seizing powerful authority with a quick strike.
But labor, having earned him wealth, brings worries.
The weight of riches has made his steps weigh heavy;
p. 143He longs for order, stable government,
And stands, a firm supporter of the law.

“I know you disregard this ‘gold materialism,’
For what you call the ‘gold of evening skies.’
But let me tell you, boy, it's good for you
That my lands are vast and bankers reliable, or else
Your girl, poor thing, I often think,
Would lack for food and shoes to wear.”
So he spoke, in what I refer to as his ‘copper-gilt,’
For which I paid him with tinsel; “She needs shoes!
Her feet will touch the flowers of paradise,
And, being an angel, she won't need any food.”
“Ugh! Get your gear, let’s catch some trout.”
She never stayed away from home long,
But lived a simple life; contentedly
Taking the continent and many things
On faith; feeling our landscapes satisfied
Her love for beauty. When she
Came back from a visit, no more beautiful sight
Ever graced my eyes than when she swam into his arms,
p. 144And stood in elegance, delicate against his strength
Supporting her, and kissed his lips and cheeks
And brow. He then, as if his daughter still
Were just a child, would cradle her upturned head
Between his hands, where the innocent face
Blushed with a smile, like a sweet flower
Breaking from its brown sheath: he gazed
With a father’s look that was immeasurably kind;
And long, in a tenderness bordering on pity,
He held her, who was lovely and good.
One late evening in the warm summer
We worried the night’s wind might chill
Her calm mother as we walked a path
Leading to the house, trellised with espalier;
She always mindful slipped away quietly,
And flushed with sunset disappeared from our view;
But we soon saw her come back from the porch
In a hurry, bringing her mother’s shawl. When,
As the tide rolls in on a gentle shore,
It played with a billowy sound and look of foam
Around her advancing feet,
p. 145Her divine shape appearing as vast as the ocean's
Light beyond: yet no sea bird that shines
From the limitless blue sky
Could glide lighter than she
To drape the garment around her mother’s shoulders;
And then, act like a woman, adjust the folds;
Kissing the grateful lips, and deftly fastening
The tie at her throat. While I pondered this
And pieced together these rich fragments, it’s strange
What little things intrude on my attention!
I now remember every sculpted group,
And painted scene, and portrait, decorative vase,
Each unique print, and gem, we once saw
When visiting a nearby mansion, enriched
By generations of collected Art:
The masters, whose hands created the works,
Have long turned to dust. Ah, I know well
Why some have burned their symbols in my mind
p. 146And rise before me now!
         Stone-bound, Narcissus
Melts away in himself; and Echo nearby,
In shrunken despair, envies what he wastes.
Through smoldering morning mists, a glorious sun
Burns the mountain shoulder; above, transforms
The zenith clouds into airy gold;
And deep down, seen through pure crystalline blue,
Glimmers the village, lake, and mountain range.
Superbly at ease, a Lady stands and smiles
A sweet welcome to the world: though centuries
Have passed since she approved her painter’s work,
Her smile has such sincerity that all feel
They must have known her sometime in their lives.
Here embossed on a silver vase, a wedding train
Moves round to music: spectators toss flowers
Before the shy, bending bride; meanwhile,
p. 147Stalwart and proud, her groom smiles broadly
As at a dazzling sun: the pipers play,
The harpers strum, the cymbals clash, youths sing;
Six maidens walk behind to hold her veil,
One pair are sad, the next look vain, and two
Whisper pretty secrets to themselves.
Here from old paper stands, and looks of men
The manliest, and king among English kings,
The lion Cromwell, in his war attire:
Beneath him coils a monster welling blood,
Whose severed heads spread around in sparkling gleam
Of jeweled mitres, coronets, and crowns.
Sharp cut on a gem, set in a thick gold ring,
The size and roundness of a lady’s nail,
Love bleeding on the tip of his own dart;
Who thus had died, had not with the tenderest touch
Immortal Psyche held the aching heart
Close to her own, and purified the pain,
And fanned him with her wings.
         And now, as then,
p. 148Along those hushed, rich corridors we moved,
Studying each masterpiece we cherished most,
And did not want to linger, but felt some chance
Must serve us for the rest: lost in thought, I pass
From scene to scene of My Dear Lady’s life,
And leave my other memories undisturbed.

Beneath this airy sapphire sky's heavy stillness,
Its shadows chilled me like an approaching storm,
That dark disaster that struck and took our darling
From their care and mine. Grief left us all in shock.
In an instant, the mother without her child lost
Her shaky strength and lay down, never to
Experience life on earth again! Beside her, her husband
Sat and watched her fade; he saw the last weak smile
Fade from her face until her closing eyes
Glimmered with tearful joy, revealing to him
Love’s everlasting nature. With both her own, she
Silently held his hand,p. 149and
Kept it gently pressed. But when her soft grip loosened and fell,
The world closed in around him into a solid void.

And now the strong man was brought down;
Like a ripe harvest knocked down by a storm
In the morning; before the sun can warm it back
Into strength, another storm
Overcomes it and scatters it to waste by evening.

When the numbness that comes after pain
Passed from strangeness to a natural awareness
Of everyday needs, he hated his empty home:
His large garden, his lake, his woods;
The fresh air, the open sky,
He hated them all. When spring awakened
The passionate birds of the woods and fields
To joyful seasons, their music mocked
His sadness with its echoes, chattering tales
Of what once was: and he, in bitterness,
p. 150Decided to leave a place where every corner
Felt like an enemy, whose fixed, mocking gaze
Silently hoped to see him fail;
He left our country. Far away, in Eastern lands,
Serving his nation well, he fought and died:
And never had a nobler man represented
The greatness of England’s worth and name.

After many years of hard work filled with ups and downs
Since these events shut down my life.
Some of it was by choice, and some by necessity,
With determination, I’ve carried on and pushed
The work it was my responsibility to support.
Because, when my vision became clear again, I looked
And saw how petty humans can be, who take
The efforts of others and give nothing in return.

Then my spirit
saw this island people two thousand years ago
in a primitive state, ruled by priests
p. 151more
ferocious and bloody than the wolves that howled
at midnight around their monstrous altar stones,
sensing the human blood for sacrifice.
Saw Caesar arrive, surrounded by legions with keen eyesight,
to test the courage of the Britons. When legions
followed legions, and the disciplined swarms
were forced to become tributaries of all-conquering Rome.
Saw when Rome's hold, through fierce luxurious guilt,
could no longer endure; and with tattered feathers,
her eagles left her slaves to fend off the hungry Pict invasions
as best they could. Next, when a robust, friendly people here raised
the White Horse Standard: men who worked the land
until golden corn, responsive, brightened the plains.
When, drawn by plunder, ravens from the North
came this way: the struggle lasted years,
until both weary champions clasped
p. 152hands,
to share the land as a common home.
With peace, the land thrived; and strong bonds
between nobles and their kings, and serfs to them,
fell slackened or distorted into misrule;
when Norman William, hard as rocks and fierce
as fire, with a charge of armored horses and showers
of steel, conquered England. He drilled
her rough sons grimly: through stern command and the strength of his sword,
he forced obedience wherever he imposed a law.
For many ages against men's stubborn minds,
with give and take, the bold Plantagenets
maintained the discipline. At last, the people, now evolved
through constant struggle into muscles of power,
moved calmly with strength under Tudor rule.
And then a Northern Stuart took their crown,
whose son, forgetful that he ruled over men
who valued truth, lied to them and lost his head;
for Puritans had no respect for lies.
p. 153Next
flared Charles' wild festivities
of Lely Nymphs, who, panting, sang, “More gold;
we gladly offer our beauties; gold, more gold.”
Unlucky explosions, foolishness, frenzied plots;
until well coerced by Lowland William’s cunning.
Then plans that led nowhere, or worse, enforced
by Marlborough’s cannons thundering overseas.
Then through the Guelphic line; our people now grow
to that great power which is set to influence the world.

Down from those human wrecks, wolf-like,
To when, in understandably excessive
Pity, our people’s will bought
Freedom for the lazy islands of Western slaves:
And now, when thousands smoothly deny
The proven murderer his execution, the thief
His proper punishment; and when a General
Can lead troops to their deaths, yet receive
His Senate’s vote of thanks and everything smoothed over;
And when, just as much from the goodwill of other states
p. 154As from the burden
Of tightfistedness, we let our fleets
Deteriorate, and regiments shrink to bones.—
From those terrible rights to such civility
The journey is indeed long; though kind quirks
May sometimes call for Justice from her throne;
Yet kindness is still a valuable gain,
And we will trust that such quirks are well-intended.

To understand the power we have, consider the effort that has been
Of strong muscles and sharp minds!
Strong men with fierce battles in their limbs;
Thinkers, whose cleverness surpassed the strength
Of armies; priests devoted to God, whose daily lives
Promoted purity and kindness;
Wise historians, whose patience collected facts
For current needs and future sustenance;
And women who turned their homes into a paradise,
And supported their husbands' greatness;—have greatly contributed
p. 155The best and most precious parts of their lives
For generations blending together,
Waves continually pushing against waves,
Toward the one vast, expanding flow of existence,
Then faded into the darkness that consumes all.

Could I live here in our proud Island Home,
Protected by countless victories; made strong
By kings and wise advisors; enriched
By craftsmen, whose skills surpassed everyone;
And by such amazing songs that have made it
Glorify humanity: could I live here;
Here feast on this accumulated wealth,
Like mindless pigs on acorns in the woods,
And have no desire to give thanks in return?
Surely, there must be some wildflower
To provide a single drop of honey that I might savor
To add to the collective hive!

At last determined,
I will push my efforts to their maximum,
p. 156And bring to life the buds that have yet to bloom.
I, seeking the kind help of Heaven, immediately
Started the work that will be mine until I die.
If I'm allowed to uproot
Some harmful weeds, or plant a seed that time
Will nurture into a tree providing pleasant shade,
A gift for tired limbs, and beautiful to see;
Then I will know that the hand that struck me down
Has guided me along the paths of truth.

And she, my lost beloved, where is she?
Where has she been all these long years
Of struggle?

She has been the light of my life!
The bright dawn and the glow of the day
At noon: and she has deepened the colors
To richer tones as the sun sets:
And my tired eyes she closes: then, in dreams,
A beam of glory comes down with steps
p. 157And guides my spirit up where I see
My loved ones lost. And so, through sleep, not death,
Distanced from worldly worries and annoying troubles,
I experience the calm of the life to come.

What time his scythe in misty summer mornings
With a cheerful ring the mower sharpens; and cows
Move slowly, breathing sweetness, toward the pail
Their milking-maid is ringing, as she calls
“Hey Strawberry and Blossom, come here Cows;”
While slung against the hill with his team
The ploughman dimly glides like a ghost:
What time that noisy spot of life, the lark,
Soars, shrill with joy, into the trembling air;
And “Cuckoo, Cuckoo,” baffling where it comes,
Shouts the happy egotist who calls himself;
And every hedge and thicket sings: What time
The lover, restless, through his waking dream,
Almost wins the hoped-for great unknown joy,
Which may never bloom, perhaps; elsewhere,
p. 158The beloved Maid, a folded rose over-rosed
By rosy dawn, lies asleep breathing smiles:
Then often through the empty London streets,
When every house is closed and ghostly still,
And, except for the sparrow chirping from the tower
Where time tolls by, all sounds are quiet;
Then I walk, reflecting on the ways of fate,
And review the past before me,
Counting my losses and my cherished gains,
And feel I lost a glory that a person
Can never know but once: but from that burden
Of grief arose a focus
Of sober interest aimed at larger goals
Than I had before; and empathy
For struggling souls, each holding dear within
A sacred meaning, known or hidden:—
And these, in their complexities and far
Connections with the total power
Which is the living world, now are my gain;
And grant my spirit from this broader truth
p. 159A glimpse of that high duty required of all.
How wildly the West flares around the sun,
Now fallen low! And as one, nameless, sails,
Lost deep in enchanting reverie, along
A silent river; passing villages
Busy with work; flowered banks and shady coves,
And cattle grazing peacefully in the meadows;
Who only wakes to realization when full
A burst of sunshine from the sinking orb
Striking the water first catches his dazzled sight;—
So to the present hour am I called back
By that red sunlight flaming up the spire,
And vane that sparkles in the warm blue sky
And that too-well-remembered tolling bell.

Now on the vast, mysterious ocean leans
The sailor over the side of his boat, feeling
The buzzing joys of home; wondering if fate
Will carry him on to finish his life there.
Now pleased, the housewife sees
Her husband’s footsteps coming home; his meal
p. 160Prepared, the children all tidied up; she
With a comforting smile plans to soothe her man,
Tired from work, through the evening hours.
They weave their life together, humming like a wheel,
These airy insects. Birds have stopped singing,
But chirp softly, settling down to rest;
And not a crow’s caw disrupts the calm air.
I must leave; but before I go, I’ll kneel
To kiss this ivy—humble earthly symbol,
That would with constant greenery honor her name,
As I wrap her memory in my love!
For she has been the blessing that has strengthened
My resolve in the darkest hours of night,
When doubts weigh down and fears distract; and when
The heavy forces of evil crush the good,
And compassion burns in fear; while, shocked,
White Justice shrinks away; and not a voice,
Not even the smallest, dares to raise
Itself against the dripping blood-red horror that taints
With death and danger, heaven and earth and sea;
When people’s beliefs grow wild, seeing only
p. 161The terrible black, monstrous sin,
Forgetting that the light still shines beyond;
And in the end doubting the very truth of God,
They hate their fellow human beings and themselves;
Groaning beneath a tyrant, who thinks less
Of precious human blood than shipbuilders count
Of water in the dock, so many feet
Will bear so many tons, if it helps
One little step toward his brutalizing goals,
Who, like an armed thief, robs his people’s wealth.
Then shines my Love's star-like brightness through the darkness;
And comes, as a glorious Conqueror
Returning from that tyrant’s defeat,
His brow still glowing and pale with victory:
Whose strength long resisted the fierce attacks
Of swarming hosts; who, skillfully baffling
Their clever plans, in due time
Closed his own forces and caused them great pain;
Sunk the huge ships of the enemy fleet,
p. 162Their fastest frigates sank to watery doom:
Others he scared like birds; and led the rest
In a foamy victorious wake, a captured prize,
Where his people gather in proud acclaim
Of “Welcome, Welcome, Welcome! To our hearts
O Savior of your country! to our hearts
O Father of your people! welcome back!”
And shout joyfully his beloved name;
Who moves through storms of music, and sees
A sea of faces filled with happiness,
And lit with rapture into wonderous awe.
And as that grateful crowd forgets
Whatever wrong he may have done, I
Embrace my painful sorrow, and welcome the good.

And when, in later years, that honored One
finally returns to his homeland,
after achieving his last great victory,
his people gather solemnly,
paying tribute to the dead,
and standing in silence, amidst the mournful sounds
p. 163of military music lamenting his departure
Who freed them from the chains they despised;
And with utmost respect, with gentle hands,
and tearful eyes, and hearts that ache and pulsate,
they lay their revered Hero to rest,
gently lowering him into his eternal peace:
His glory ascends to a fixed star
illuminating the land he cherished forever.
So comes my love to me: its radiant light
still hovers sacredly, guiding me onward
to greater horizons, and more noble uses
of the gifts entrusted to me. From now on, my soul
will always have a place to retreat,
when overwhelming challenges threaten to shake my faith
in what is right: for remembering Her life
filled with kind deeds and gentle affection,
compassionately tender; and shaped
in such a way, that often to my adoring eyes
she seemed divine, I can hardly believe
that Heaven could let Her exist in a world
so tainted as ours. And now, no matter what comes
p. 164of injustice and bitterness that might break my spirit;
whatever darkness I may have to face;
a ray has pierced me from the highest heaven—
I have believed in worth; and I still believe.

The moisture from the trellis rose
Drips like music down through shiny leaves;
And its fragrance is even sweeter, filling our lungs
When we throw open our lattice to the morning.
It’s lovely to see thrushes with bright eyes and speckled chests,
Searching the dew-covered lawns with sharp glances;
And rabbits nimbly nibble on tender grasses,
Or pause, startled, at each other’s shadow.
And when the orchard branches are heavy with fruit,
We joyfully watch the harvest wagons
Glide smoothly by among singing hedgerows.
It’s beautiful to see the pale mist in the milky blue sky
Slowly drifting into wandering clouds
Driven by the clean and light, elastic wind;
And through that peaceful, harmonious sunshine hum
p. 166we can notice how the floating seeds
Drift like fleeting thoughts, going unnoticed.

But sweeter than all roses, sights of birds,
Richer than fruit, more than entire fields of corn,
Fairer than the glories of the brightest day,
Dearer than any old familiar sound
From childhood days, than every shimmering joy
Pouring from the abundant fountain of the earth,
Is our instinctive response to the call
Of Duty.

Those who want to be more
Than those who feast, laugh, and die will hear
The call of Duty, like the sound of war,
Strengthening their spirits for great challenges,
And tightening every muscle for the fight.
It causes them to leave a happy, nature-filled life
For competition in the bustling city.
And in its never-ending noise, they stand firm
And resolute amid the chaos, toe to toe
With opposition, fighting for the truth.
p. 167To such, the thrill of battle is more appealing than
The heaviest ocean waves crashing on cliffs,
The storm’s fury on the creaking woods,
Or elemental clashes in the sky:
More than a lover’s joy when he feels
His partner’s heartbeat vibrating softly,
Or a father’s when he holds in his arms
The warmth of his little firstborn,
Or sees him growing tall and strong:
And their joy will never fade but grow
Greater with time, burning
More brightly fueled by noble deeds. For souls
Responsive to divine inspiration, who push
Their strength with determination until the rocks
Are cut from their path, until the swamp’s
Endlessness is choked and bound
Into a solid road for travel and leisure,
Tall arches stretch across the water,
Until the tortured earth reveals its secrets
That then become submissive to man,
Until efforts at the desk eventually lead
p. 168To law: those who contemplate the stars proclaim
Their size and distance and follow their path;
Those who do whatever will empower
Or benefit humanity with time to appreciate
The marvelous heavens and beauty of earth;
Who will teach him the truth that helps
Him to respect his fellow man more;
Who direct his spirit to worship
Eternal things, through which he learns
To scorn the fleeting vanities of wealth
As poisoned delights and trinkets that should
Never distract him from that profound light
In which he exists; those who act and who have acted
To aid humanity in freeing
Itself, imperfectly, from baser instincts
And achieving clarity of vision:—such noble souls
Will always find blessed joy in their work,
Laboring for Duty that can never fade.

Men may seem like toys of ironic fate:
One sturdily shod walks on soft grass;
p. 169And another is forced to climb with bare feet
Sharp, rocky paths filled with scorpions,
While ravenous hunger chokes him;
One lingers over his rich drink and laughs,
Another, trembling, tastes his bitter drink and groans;
But there is hope for everyone. Though not for everyone
To sail through sunny waters to the end,
Talking about shipwrecks as if they were sad stories;
Not everyone is born to feel the delicate pangs
That announce love’s fulfillment, and watch
Their beloved thrive in the gentle air
Of comfort until they themselves become the source
Of a yet gentler generation: not everyone is born
To reach great heights and shine
As guiding spirits in their nations’ view
And inspire formless descendants:
But through great mercy, everyone is born
To inherit a nobler legacy
Than these, if each chooses wisely
In serving Duty, man’s right:
Which is far more pleasant than paths of flowers,
p. 170Than the warmest gathering of home joys,
And prouder than the loudest cheers of fame
That follow actions not done with conscience.

Fair Duty, so different from the blight of death,
Whose gloomy presence brings people down to ruin,
Uplifts his spirit into a more exceptional life.
Hers is a wide domain open to the poor
And the rich alike: here, even the humblest peasant may
Stand as their equal alongside noble lords,
And those who serve can be as significant as those who lead:
Here, a stained artisan who simply fastens
The plates of an iron fortress, shares the pride
Of that trained leader who commands its artillery;
And anyone who points or fires a single cannon
Earns respect alongside the mind that planned the war.

Fair Duty, tough and risky to serve,
Demands complete devotion,
Before she shows the beauty of her smile;
p. 171And torments with misery the traitor slave
Who, having known her face and acted
At her command, falls back into laziness,
Or toils like a servant to his own low desires:—
A sworn knight, equipped with armor and a proven sword,
Yet flattering ignorant brutality with praise,
And with the broken hearts of honest men
Feeding the monster he set out to defeat.
But whoever truly respects her law
As fundamental, and the greatest of all needs,
Turning sharp danger into strength through discipline,
That transforms obstacles into past joy,
Fair Duty rewards with her heavenly love,
From which the mystical blessing, glory, emerges:
And the glory born of Duty is a crown
Of light.

And all those crowned illuminate their work
In splendor that no earthly eye can see,
And know that every seed they plant, and stone
p. 172They set, and truth they find, come together to create
A well-planned city in a governed land
That future generations will raise a Temple built
Strong in its center to praise God.
And everyone sees their efforts celebrated,
Whether the worker at the desk, a king
On his throne, or the builder of the bridge:
The desk shines with the brilliance of a kingly throne,
The throne radiates light like the sun,
The bridge spans death—a pathway to the stars.

March 1865.

Ah, Nelly Dale, nearly fifty years
Since you and I started out together,
Both happy, like the summer weather,
That filled our path to the lakes
So rich with flowers and abundant
Sweet honeysuckle scent,
It was a bright, cheerful garden, alive
With the flutter of insects all around!

The cows were white and soft as silk
At Flowerdew’s, where we went for milk
With jug and can. The can you carried
Jingled and rattled when you hurried
In your new dress striped with lilac, while
Crossing that high, clumsy stile.

p. 176Leaving our cottage gates at noon,
We quickly made our way down the dusty hill,
Turning into a dry path by the water,
Just like our conversation; we were quiet,
Not speaking until the two rows
Of willows along their shaded banks
Had blocked us from the road, and we
Were all that we saw and cared to see.

As if we were let out of school, we ran,
Until we matched each other's pace,
Walking side by side;
And even though we tried to keep apart,
The jug kept clinking against the can!
Pausing on an upper path
That bordered the great pasture, marked with math,
We saw the view stretch out
Into the clear, distant sky;
A spark of imagination lit, and I started
To whistle “Tom the Piper’s Son,”
Wondering whether, when I grew up,
p. 177I I should keep just working, or dreaming,
Like others always had,
Or wander off to some amazing place,
Over the hills and far away!
But looking at your lovely face,
The blooming flower of natural beauty
That brings charm to everyday life,
Your mother’s pride, her constant praise;
Happy here, I hoped I might
Never be out of my darling’s sight.

Ah, my, how we loved to wander
Down that path far from home!
Laughter and chatter about this and that;
Ripe strawberries, mice, and cats;
The birthday approaching; the birthday feast,
With something extra delicious to eat,
And currant, cowslip, and elderberry wine,
Just like real lords and ladies dine!

Equal joy in our silence next;
Pretending that you're annoyed,
p. 178When I swoop in to kiss you, I
Knock your bonnet out of place,
And right away you untie the strings
To fix it properly again;
How smartly the two ribbons twinkle
In bows, turned sideways in annoyance,
Until your quick fingers adjust them
And they settle down nicely mixed!
Moments of shared silent surprise
Turned our glances into conversation,
As we moved forward, everything feeling
Strange, rich, and beautiful, while dreaming
Fleeting glimpses of what only
Is ever known to great-winged angels.

We didn't know whether you or I
First spotted the beautiful butterfly
Trembling around us as we turned
To see how blue and crimson burned
In flashes between those blushing wings!
Nelly, I see you watching the lark
p. 179That flutters high, singing with ambition;
We both watch until our sight grows dim,
And wonder where he has gone
In the sapphire sky above.
Though he’s vanished, his joyful song
And thrill still resonate within us as we move
Slowly along our winding path; when suddenly, lo
From somewhere, he reappears,
Our friendly butterfly, and approaches
A spider's web, spun of holly
With rainbow colors that catch the sun,
Creating playful circles before he lands
Entangled in the trap of death!
I spring forward, breathless,
To see the fiend, with high elbows, whirl
Around those limbs and wings, and spin
His thread to stop the chance of flight.
Fate hangs on a single instant,
And the demon’s eager fangs are ready
To pierce that delicate breast!
Gently nipping the tips of his wings, I
p. 180Flirt him away from danger suddenly;
I strike with my cap a quick blow,
Sending the enemy crashing down
Through grass crushed safely into dust.
There, quivering on my outstretched finger,
A little while his fears linger,
Unsure whether to trust his wings,
Before, with a bolder flap or two,
He flutters into the open blue.

Could any ordinary boy resist,
When, with a rosy pout,
You offered your lips for a kiss;
Fresh as carnations bursting out
Of dewy sheaths on summer mornings,
Yet pale against the misty lawns!
We quickly move from shadowy beauty
To face the bright afternoon,
Where the sun lays across the meadow,
Fast asleep in the warmth.
Nearby, one by one,
p. 181The sheep are scattered
Around a pond, dozing in graceful shade;
And hazy cornfields beyond the glade,
Waving and dazzling to the eye,
Seem ready for a flight
To worlds of undiscovered joy.
In shining beauty, their stately looks
Calm as ministers reading books,
Grey-billed rooks with a seesaw gait
Strut around; or when they take to the sky,
They stir the warm air with their feathered wings,
Worried if their weight and size
Make flying a risky or wise choice!
Nelly and I strolled on and on
By hedgerows, brightly covered
And thickly sprinkled with frosty showers
Of woodbine stars; where bindweed flowers
Ample and moon-white shone beautifully,
Suspended over green depths,
Amid the honeyed buzz of bees,
Swaying lightly to the sweet breeze.

p. 182As we walk by the starwort’s silvery gems,
By the warm, fawn-colored maple stems,
Twists and turns that gnarled oak and thorn,
A sudden scream of rage and scorn
Startles us from the nearby hedgerow;
From there, two angry blackbirds go,
Threatening with their dire revenge!
While we, who sparked this angry fire,
Wonder how such discordant sounds
Can still produce those sweet, melodic notes
That even the most devoted lover,
At dusk, is enchanted to hear!

But if I sang about every sight
That afternoon that brought joy,
Those treasures would fill my verses
Beyond what my song can express;
So, Nelly, to be clear,
We got the milk and paid the price
Set in that charming countryside.
The rolls of butter, the jars of cream,
p. 183Churn,
and clean pans now seem,
Through fifty years of faded time,
Like memories of a nursery rhyme;
Or a story, like "The Babes in the Wood,"
Written for kids to teach them right.

We headed home in a more serious mood;
Maybe the weight we had to carry,
By stile and gate often made us pause
To switch our hands and lighten the load
By sharing the burden.
Eventually, we realized it was getting late,
Because we saw our shadows stretch up high,
Mocking our movements, three times our size;
And keeping a faithful ghostly pace,
Tempting us to a playful chase
For fairy treasure; all just for fun!
For which, no matter what they might claim,
We knew we’d have to pay with our lives!
Both of us bursting into chatter showed
How happy we were on the dusty road
p. 184Once again; and rested where the stream
Sings as it flows, halfway up the hill;
Where women and girls bring their pitchers
To fill, and gossip by the spring.
We couldn’t stop to gossip ourselves,
As we still had to reach the top
Where, lit up by the moon,
Our church spire seemed to come alive, rising and dancing
Higher and higher as we moved forward,
And then suddenly stopped, just as soon
As we reached the flat ground; then,
There your mother stood at the gate,
Impatient that we were out so late;
Asking how, and why, and when;
She thought we had drowned and were lost,
Or maybe tossed by some wild bull;
She’d been looking out for so long!
What on earth had we been doing?
Although we saw so much that day,
We had little to say at that point,
And told her a confused story
p. 185Of clothes torn by a splintered rail;
Of spiders, blackbirds, and butterflies;
Of rooks so close that looked so wise!
Of ghostly shadows along the way,
That had tempted us to play,
Though they surely must have known we should
Be making all the haste we could!
After the gentle scolding was over,
We finally said goodnight to each other
When drifting through the stillness came
Sounds like “late,” and “supper,” and “bed;”
And brighter through a deepening sky
A million stars shimmered overhead,
And bats flew swiftly and silently.

When memories come rushing back to you,
I hold onto my belief that it’s true
For one day, Nelly, you were mine!
Ah, darling, if that divine day
Had made us one for good and all!
p. 186The nursery rhymes I now remember,
Of Tom the Piper’s Son’s one tune,
Thought about on that June day,
Have turned out to be the start of my fate!
We weren't made to understand
Each other’s wishes as husband and wife:
And although I wasn't heartbroken,
Like Burns when he parted from his Mary,
And escaped the sweetness of his life;
Yet you are still close and dear to me!
For on the bridge below the hill
I see you smile just as sweetly still;
And in your clear, wide-open eyes
The vast wonder of the skies.
While every thoughtful, delicate grace
Looks perfectly at home in your face,
All the charms of a rose,
Coming together in your presence close.
Indeed, from your glowing hair to your feet,
So lightly balanced, so perfectly shaped,
You seem like a being between a flower,
p. 187The glory of a shining moment,
And someone meant to fulfill
The demands of eternity.

Your beauty, like that of a king or queen,
Gives value to everyday things:
What your rosy fingers can hold
Looks more beautiful there than pure gold;
And just like the poor who suddenly get rich,
Delightedly indulge in excess,
My imagination runs wild in the fields’
Growing abundance its claim provides:
And at your door, by the shade
Of vine leaves blocking the midday sun;
The grapes, hanging there small and sour,
Are soft in bloom and sweeter than ever!

Watching kittens as they play,
Black, tortoiseshell, white, or silver gray;
Or ducklings gliding on the water,
Yellow and soft, and wide-eyed without a care:
p. 188Or neatly-shaped chicks wandering around,
Pecking nonstop as they go about;
Each one a perfect little creature,
In flawless movement, color, and features:
A silly sadness makes me sigh
They lack permanence, oh my.
But you, my Nelly, stay forever young.
Fresh and cheerful, you thrive among
The brightest flowers, flourishing where
The meadows are always fresh and fair.
Just as you were then, I see you now,
Standing beneath an apple bough;
Your face among its blossoms, bright
With rosy laughter and pure delight,
You seem a blossom the sun has embraced
To make a larger one, perfectly placed.

What might your journey have been,
Since both of us lost our days of innocence,
I never recklessly tried to understand;
And I don’t know if your childhood paths
p. 189Were walked by your young feet
When, blushing and anxious with hope and fear,
You went to meet your wandering lover
And listened to the sounds you loved to hear!
But if sometimes your heart longed
To wander down our honeysuckle lane
Once more, in a graceful flight
Your memories would have found joy
In roaming there as a child again!
And if you became a mother,
With a mother’s worries and daily struggles;
The pain and sorrow, the hurt and blame
Mixed with the joy of being a wife,
I don’t know. But I am sure of this,
That if you were blessed with daughters,
They found your shining example enticing,
Through paths proven best by wisdom,
And meaningful, generous trust
To kindly guide more than just.
If past experiences still hold true,
And as one generation passes to another
p. 190Your daughter’s child looks like you,
Then by that happy chance perhaps
Another Nelly may appear
To grace some other village green;
As natural there as morning dew;
Or larks above, when out of sight
They lift us through the trembling blue
To soar with them in joy;
Or primroses, whose welcoming faces
From sunny banks and shady spots,
Tenderly glimmer in pale gold
Caught as early morning broke,
When, dreaming, daylight they woke
In love from the moistened earth.
And if a Nelly, though changed in name,
Her lovely qualities will remain the same
Pointing to every charm that once captivated
Through uncelebrated ancestors,
Then still there shines a joy that blesses
The traveler by your cottage door;
Who, happy in later years to recall
p. 191The memory of your playful face,
May linger on your presence while
Before him still you turn to smile.

NOTE.

The two parts of “My Beautiful Lady,” titled “My Beautiful Lady” and “My Lady in Death,” were written in 1849 and published on January 1, 1850, in “The Germ,” a magazine that only had four issues. “Dawn” and “My Lady’s Glory” were written around the same time, but all the other poems were composed between 1857 and 1861. The first complete edition came out in 1863, the second in 1864, and the third in 1866.

“Nelly Dale” was written in 1886.

T. W.