Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

Cassell's National Library

BY
COVENTRY PATMORE.

“Through endless grace, God brought them into the world together.”

Rousier des Dames.

CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited:
London, Paris & Melbourne.
1891.

p. vTHIS POEM
IS COMMITTED
TO
HER MEMORY
WHO INSPIRED ME TO BECOME A POET.

There could be only one response to Mr. Coventry Patmore's suggestion that his “Angel in the House” should have a spot in this “National Library.” He proposed this with the belief that making it widely available and affordable wouldn’t diminish the value of a copyright library edition, as the greatest purpose of writing is fulfilled by sharing poetry dedicated to the sacred love of home. The two parts of the poem were published in 1854 and 1856, were later thoroughly revised, and have since earned a lasting place among the Home Books of the English People. Our readers will surely want to express their gratitude to the author for this gift he has given us.

H.M.

‘Mine is no horse with wings, to gain
The area of the spherical chime;
He just pulls a rumbling cart,
Cheered by the paired bells of rhyme;
And if at Fame’s enchanting sound
My ordinary Pegasus perks his ear,
The world’s cart-collar grips his throat,
And he’s too smart to prance or rear.’

So Vaughan replied to his wife,
Who wanted his fame even more than he did;
But deep down, he was filled with thoughts
About how to earn a name for her sake.
p. 14With poetic laurels three times crowned,
And other college honors achieved,
He could be famous if he wanted to,
He had little doubt, and she had none;
And he spoke to her in grander words
On their wedding day,
(The eighth), while they walked through the fields,
Their children cheering along the way.

‘Not careless of the gift of song,
Nor lacking a love for noble fame,
I have spent a lot of time thinking
About what I should sing and how to earn a name,
Considering carefully what themes have gone unsung,
What reasons are worth the effort of rhyme,
That remain to set the poet’s tongue free
In these final days, the lowest of times,
I learn that to me, even though I was born so late,
There comes, beyond what is deserved,
(May my great fortune make me great!)
The first of themes, sung last of all.
In green and undiscovered territory,
Yet close to where many others sing,
I have found the very source
From which the Pierian Spring flows.’

Then she said, “What is it, dear? The Life   Of Arthur, or the Fall of Jerusalem?” “Neither: it’s you, my gentle wife,   And love, that grows from one to all. And if I wholeheartedly declare   The true worth of these, Surely the sweetest crown of Fame   Will grace my head for your hopes; And if, through my choice   Of this, the most touching theme That ever inspired a poet’s voice,   I live, as I'm daring to dream, To bring joy to many days,   And only fall silent When those who shared their glory   With Laura and Beatrice are still, Imagine, love, how learned people   Will uncover profound ideas, Beyond my intent and understanding,   As an ancient poet of simple mind. You, sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse,   Were you meant for any mortal woman? Your praises give countless hints   To mythological significance! p. 16And, cutting the truth from the metaphor,   In you the commentators see Secret outlines of broader concepts,   A future for philosophy! Your arm’s on mine! these are the fields   Where we live our days; There runs the Avon, now hidden by reeds,   Now brightly flowing in pebbly bays; Those are the songs of our children   That come with the bells and bleating sheep; And over there, in that English home,   We thrive on mortal food and sleep!” She laughed. How proud she always felt   To know how proud he was of her! But he had become unsettled, because   The Muse’s mood began to stir.

His purpose with performance complete,
He shared with his happy Wife,
When their Wedding Day came around again,
His leisure's work, 'Book the First.'

Look, love is obeyed by everyone. It’s only fair That all should understand what they follow, So that a confused conscience doesn’t spoil the pleasure, And foolishness doesn’t laugh our happiness away. You, Original Love, who gives wings And voices to the birds in the woods, Grant me the ability to express things Too simple and too sweet for words!

I walk, I trust, with open eyes;
I’ve traveled half my life’s journey;
And behind me lies
Much vanity and some regret;
p. 18I’ve lived to feel how pride can separate
souls, even when they fit perfectly;
I’ve blushed for love’s home, the heart;
But I haven’t lost my belief in love;
Nor to love, the only truly valuable thing
that lasts forever, have I wronged
To count it, with the rest that sing,
unworthy of a serious song;
And love is my reward; for now,
when most of the dull time weighs me down,
The myrtle blooms upon my brow,
its scent enlivens all my thoughts.

The richest land on earth
Is still seen as a heathen place:
Look, I, like Joshua, now step forward
To hand it over to Israel's grasp.
I won’t listen to blame or praise;
That would dishonor the sweet Power
By which these verses
Are only lovely, good, and true;
Nor will I give in to the world's opinions,
Which always preach and try to stop
Pure passion's right to create,
Instead of just following what's been done.
p. 19From
Love’s deep, rare ether
If I have shared new truths with men,
They were like new stars there
Before, even if they weren’t written down yet.
Moving only as feelings move,
I run, or linger with joy,
Or pause to see where gentle Love
Guides the soul from one height to another.
Yet, know this, though my words are bright
Like David’s dance, which Michal scorned.
If you kindly receive the verse,
You will be sweetly helped and warned.

Once again, I arrived at Sarum Close,
Feeling joyful yet nostalgic,
And breathed in the sunny breeze that rose
And blew the shadows over the Spire,
And tossed the lilac's fragrant blooms,
And swayed the chestnut’s countless cones,
And filled my nostrils with sweet scents,
And shaped the clouds into shapes and patterns,
p. 20And carried down the serious tune
Of Sarum bells, when, right on time,
I reached the Dean’s, with heart and mind
That trembled with the ringing chime.

It was half my home, six years ago.
Those six years hadn't changed it:
Red-brick and stone, long and low,
With dormers and bright oriels.
Geraniums, lychnis, and roses decorated
The windows, all wide open;
And someone in the study played
Mendelssohn's Wedding March.
That's where I last said goodbye:
It was Christmas: I now remembered
The cruel girls who pretended to grieve,
Took down the evergreens; and how
The holly blazed in the fire
Lighting the large, low room,
A dim, rich glow of old oak
And the warm gloom of crimson velvet.
No change had affected Dean Churchill: kind,
More bent by widowhood than by winters,
And settled in a cheerful mindset,
Always thinking about heaven's joy.
p. 21It was no surprise
That his thoughts were focused above,
Now that she was there! Within her face
Humility and dignity
Were beautifully intertwined.
She seemed like she was sent down
To teach our wandering minds to see
The rhythmic change of time’s swift flow
As part of eternal stillness.
Her life, all honor, was observed with awe
That even tough experiences couldn't tarnish,
The idea of the Christian law
That all honorable people are;
And so her smile gave
Both high praise and gentle rebuke;
And I, a rough boy, oddly stirred,
Became more respectful for my own sake.
The years, far from doing her wrong,
Blessed her with gracious comfort,
And made her brows more youthful
With garlands of amaranth and palm.

Was this her oldest, Honor; a prude,
Who wouldn’t let me pull the swing;
Who, kissed at Christmas, called me rude,
And, sobbing softly, refused to sing?
p. 22How changed! In shape no slender Grace,
But Venus; gentler than the dove;
Her mother’s aura; her Norman face;
Her large sweet eyes, clear lakes of love.
Mary I knew. Back then,
Sickly and pale, she thought that happiness
Was only for a better place,
And, overly heavenly, dismissed this.
I, rash with theories of what’s right,
Which stretched the limits of my beliefs,
But did not break them, thought delight
Was half discipline. We disagreed.
She told the Dean I needed grace.
Now she was the kindest of the three,
And soft wild roses adorned her face.
And, what, was this my Mildred, she
To herself and everyone a sweet surprise?
My Pet, who played and rolled a hoop?
I wondered where those daisy eyes
Had found their beautiful curve and droop.

Rough times! But now we sat Stranger than strangers; until I caught And responded to Mildred’s smile; and that Spread to everyone else, bringing freedom. p. 23The Dean talked little, just observing, Of three daughters justly proud. What letters they had received from Bonn, Mildred said, and what plums from Spain! By Honor, I was kindly tasked To explain my not coming down From Cambridge; Mary smiled and asked If Kant and Goethe were still being studied? And happily, we talked about the old days; And when we parted, I sighed for pleasure. Being there as a friend, (since more), Seemed then, and still seems, a reason for pride; For something that lingered, imbued With a temple-like calm, an atmosphere Of life’s noble aims pursued With sweet and fair ordered freedom. A tent pitched in a world not right It seemed, whose occupants, each one, With tranquil faces bore the light Of beautifully fulfilled duties, And humbly, though they had few equals, Followed their own laws, which seemed to be The fair sum of six thousand years’ Traditions of civility.

When I look up at the skies above
Passing the grandeur of dreams,
The clouds that seem soft and gentle,
A resting place for marrying Juno,
The wide ocean, the bright mountains,
The shadowy valleys filled with grazing herds,
I strike the music from my lyre,
And don’t lack for fitting words.
I can sing of all the forces of the sea and air,
Of all the interests of hills and plains,
In fair seasons, I can sing so well,
That those who have felt may feel again.
Often uplifted by such free songs,
I think to express openly
That hymn for which the whole world longs,
A worthy hymn praising women;
p. 25A hymn bright and cheerful like a bird’s,
Awakening these song-sleepy times
With beautiful rhythms of perfect words,
Guided by the kiss of rhymes.
But when I gaze upon her and hope
To express with joy what I admire,
My thoughts are trapped in a narrow space,
Or die in feeble attempts;
No mystery of well-crafted speech,
No simplest phrase with the gentlest tone,
No comparable excellence can reach
Her, you most excellent of all,
The best part of creation’s best,
Its heart to feel, its eye to see,
The crown and essence of the rest,
Its purpose and its summary.
No, if I were to voice my thoughts,
It would still be an ordinary song,
For she’s so simply, subtly sweet,
My deepest joy does her wrong.
Yet it is now my chosen task
To sing her worth as a Maiden and a Wife;
No happier role than this I desire,
To celebrate her all my life.
On wings of love lifted high,
And made great by her gentleness,
I’ll show how noble a man should be
To match such a lovely partner;
p. 26And then in her may stir even more
The woman’s wish to be cherished,
(By increased praise), until both shall soar,
With joyful ambition ignited.
And, as geranium, pink, or rose
Is enhanced through the power of art,
So may my joyful skill reveal
New beauty even in her kind heart;
Until there’s no one left to be found
Who isn’t, in awe, bending before the throne
Of her captivating majesty,
So humble, so unlike our own;
Until (for who can hope too much
From her who holds the powers of love?)
Our lifted lives at last shall touch
That joyful goal to which they strive;
Until we discover, as darkness fades
Away, and evil mists dissolve,
That marital contrasts are the poles
On which the heavenly spheres revolve.

Whenever I arrive where ladies are,
No matter how sad I was before,
Like a ship stuck in frost and far
Trapped in ice, away from the ocean’s roar,
p. 27Spending a third winter in that dreadful dock,
With stiff rigging, decaying sails,
And a crew indifferent to calm or storm
Too dull to feel dismayed,
Yet, if I come where ladies are,
No matter how sad I was before,
Then my sadness is driven away,
And I’m not like that ship anymore;
Or like that ship if the ice breaks apart,
Split by the sudden warmth of spring,
And everyone thanks God with lifting spirits,
Kissing each other and dancing and singing,
And raising fresh sails that catch the breeze,
Carrying them across the open sea,
Out of the North, where life was frozen,
Into the harbor where they want to be.

Anne lived so genuinely from the heart,
She was so kind and so pure,
That duty made me fall for her,
And ‘if it weren't for that,’ I thought, ‘I would!’
I adored Kate with all my might,
In daydreams you feel you can see
A noble spirit in the mountains,
A human connection with a tree.

The absence of sweet pride in her
Who tries to please, my enjoyment fades,
And yet the girl I like the most
Whose effort to please genuinely delights.

One morning, after church, I walked
   Alone with Mary on the lawn,
And felt that, no matter how we talked,
   We were touching on serious themes.
When she, pleased, realized I understood
   More of her peace than she thought I did,
Our confidences turned toward the heavens,
   Like foxglove buds opening in pairs.
We confessed our past mistakes,
   Our old feud was completely healed,
And, with a woman's eagerness
   For friendship that felt full and genuine,
She, offering up her heart’s reservations
   To show me, brought out some verses she’d written
When she was cold
   To everyone but Heaven, six years ago;
p. 29Since she had grown happier! I took them and read
   The neatly written lines. She, honest and
Regretting too late, blushed and said,
   I shouldn’t focus on the style.

‘Day after day, until today,
Imagining those who came before,
The same boring task, the tiring path,
The weakness excused over and over,

‘The unfulfilled thirst, barely
For joy's almost forgotten life,
The restless heart, which, when I knelt,
Turned my worship into barren struggle.

‘Ah, where does today’s sweet release come from,
This clear light of all my worries,
This free conscience, this fertile peace,
These gently folded wings of prayer,

‘This calm and conquering love,
That nothing evil dares to face,
This joy that doesn’t seek to rise,
For faith is too certain, too sweet for hope?

‘Oh, happy time, too happy change,
It won't last, even if cherished!
Soon the sun will feel just as strange
As the cloud that now seems to fade.’

She shook off the blight from a rose tree;
And she knew that I knew well
Her way of responding with silence;
And, now answering the lunch bell,
I laughed at Mildred’s laughter, which turned
All sadness upside down, its mood
Displayed such sweet self-confidence,
So joyful in the goodness of the moment.

I laughed and sighed; I admit
I never went to a Ball, or Party,
Or Show, except to find
My destined partner;
So for me, who saw clearly
The happy chance coming my way,
Every beauty shone brightly
With personal warmth;
And in my heart's records,
Marked in bright letters, stood sixteen,
Who, above all others,
Had been my focus until then:
Three in Berlin, one at St. Cloud,
One near Cambridge at Chatteris,
Four in Ely, two in London,
Two at Bowness, none in Paris,
p. 31And last, and best, three in Sarum;
But the most cherished of all,
In my current judgment, was she
Whose daisy-like eyes learned to droop.
Her very flaws sparked my interest;
My loving will, so thwarted, grew;
And dedicated to adoration, I admired
Whatever she was, with biased eyes.
And yet, when, like today, her smile
Was the prettiest, I couldn’t help but notice
Honoria, while less adored,
Was even more beautiful, though far removed from love.

He meets, by heavenly chance,
The destined girl; some hidden hand
Reveals to him that beauty
That others can't quite grasp.
His worth grows in her presence,
To match the promise in her eyes,
And around her joyful footsteps blow
The genuine airs of Paradise.
For joy of her he can't sleep;
Her beauty haunts him all night;
It melts his heart, makes him weep
For wonder, admiration, and delight.
O, paradox of love, he craves,
Most humble when he aims the highest,
To endure scorn and cruel wrongs
From her he respects and desires.
p. 33Her graces make him feel rich, with no
Demand in return; this royal poise
Challenges him; he refuses to bask,
The dependent of her priceless smile.
He hopes for something tough to do,
Some feat of glory and great effort,
To strengthen the weary body and the strength
Of love’s newly awakened power.
No smallest gift would be too dear,
Even if traded for his love-sick life;
Yet he believes, with unwavering courage,
To conquer heaven, and call her Wife.
He sees how queens of sweetness still
Ignore their crowns and lower themselves to mate;
How, willingly devoted, they
Only ask for love that’s fair;
How quick pursuit, little by little,
Love’s strategy, works like a miracle;
How bravery, wrapped in kindness,
Brings down the proudest fortress;
And so, though he doesn't deserve
To kiss the braid of her skirt,
His hope, never discouraged,
Soars higher than anything he deserves.

Intense feelings lead to weak will, and he
Who truly understands the power and joy
That comes with love will agree with me
That there’s no passion but a virtue.
Few listen to my words; they rise above
The subtle perceptions of the mass
Of miserable beings who do not know love,
Their souls still like a wingless worm.
Heaven’s bright glow seems icy-cold
To spirits whose life-force burns in hell;
And to corrupt hearts just as well
The songs I sing, the story I share.
These cannot see the pure white robes
In which I sing of love. Alas,
But darkness appears in heavenly light,
Though whiteness, in the dark, looks black!

You love? That’s as far as you’ll go;
For it’s as true as the Gospel,
Not being noble is never the case,
Either in this world or the next.

Feeling tired after a week away
from my dear friends, I rode to check out
the church renovations; hung out for a bit,
and ran into the Dean; I was invited for tea,
and saw their cousin, Frederick Graham
by Honor's side. Was I
worried
if, when she sang, his cheeks flushed,
while mine, like a slap, burned?
A guy trying to impress a girl! I thought,
reflecting his forced smiles, the anger I hid
as she was surrounded by
the sweet moonlight between her clouds!

Whether this cousin was the reason
I don't know, but I seemed to notice,
The first time then, how beautiful she was,
How she was the prettiest of the three.
Each paused to let the other pass;
But, pressed for time, he stood up first.
Did he stay in Sarum long? If he did,
I hoped to see him at the Hurst.
p. 36No: he had
stopped here on his way
To Portsmouth, where the Arrogant,
His ship, was; he was leaving the next day,
For a two-year cruise in the Levant.

Had love taken root in her yet?
I watched. Her goodbye made it clear
She loved, on the grand terms
That she shouldn’t be loved back;
And so her cousin, when he left, felt.
Hope was gone from his voice and eyes.
Compassion softened my bitterness;
Then I went home to a restless bed.
I, who admired her as well, could see
His endless regret over this
Great mystery, that she could be
So beautiful, yet not his,
And, feeling sorry for him, longed to speak up;
But I could hardly tell, so strange my feeling,
Whether the weight on my heart
Was sorrow for myself or for him.

She was all kindness; yet it was clear
In all her elegance, most clearly,
‘Whoever is unfit for heaven itself,
Should not expect to deserve me.’
p. 37And such a challenge, aside from thoughts of love, humbled me, and thus
To sweet repentance stirred my heart,
Making me more generous,
And led me to reflect on my life,
Asking where in the least,
If the question were of her as a wife,
Anything might be fixed, hope increased.
Not that I elevated myself so high
As to dare this great hope;
Yet I clearly foresaw that love
Could hope where reason must despair;
And, partly resenting the sweet pride
That wouldn’t let me admire her,
‘Oh,’ I sighed to my secret heart,
‘If only I were worthy to desire!’

As drowsiness eased my mind,
   A loud challenge to arms,
Cried out by the rooster, received
   An angry reply from three farms.
And then, I dreamed that I, her knight,
   Heard the proud sound of a trumpet,
And rode confidently into battle,
   Dressed in the scarf she had given me;
p. 38And there, the lined-up warriors behind,
   Saw many, and defeated everyone I faced
Of her countless relatives,
   In Navy, Army, Church, and Law;
Struck down, the soldiers somehow turned
   To singers from Sarum, whose song,
Mixed with heavenly sorrow, longed
   For joy that no memory can hold;
And strange dreams both silly and sweet
   Blended together in endless pursuit,
And everywhere I seemed to find
   The haunting beauty of her face.

Check it out, when the Lord created North and South
   And set the sun and moon in place, He,
Brought forth each by His command
   In order of their significance,
Made man from the rough clay,
   One step at a time, and, having planned,
He created woman; nothing less
   Than the Sabbath could match such a work.
And still, with favor set apart,
   Less marred by the fall than man,
Her nature is devout,
   Her presence angelic;
The best things that the best believe
   Are written so kindly on her face
The unfaithful, seeing her, conceive
   Not just heaven, but hope for it;
p. 40No idle thought clouds her instinct,
   But dreams weave through settled sense,
Like changes of the clouds
   Against the midday's clear blue sky;
Pure dignity, calm, ease
   Show affections nobly anchored,
And impulses arising from the right balance
   Of mind and spirit sweetly blended.
Her modesty, her greatest grace,
   The girdle embracing Venus’ side,
How powerful to dim the face
   Of anyone daring to challenge its pride!
Wrong doesn’t even dare to speak in her presence,
   Nor does tainted thought reveal itself
Under the blush
   Outshining nature’s claim to the rose.
In mind and manners how discreet;
   How genuine in her very art;
How honest in her speech; how sweet
   The harmony of her lips and heart;
How simple yet how watchful;
   How clever and free from pretense;
Though devoted to her love, how adorned
   With every form of courtesy;
How quick in conversation to see from afar
   The way to conquer or evade;
How skilled her arguments are
   To prove, her reasons to persuade;
p. 41How (not to imply true instinct’s direction
   And woman’s very nature is flawed),
How charming and innocent
   Her delight in her ability to enchant;
How humbly careful to attract,
   Though crowned with all the soul desires,
Perfect suitability for marriage,
   Diversity that never fades.

Nature bows to her; She walks dressed in all of Earth’s glory, And, most importantly, it’s her who shines, All others support her and are joyful: No brilliance beneath the proud sky Doesn’t serve as her everyday wear; The distant diamond finds its place Glistening and glowing in her hair; For her, the seas reveal their pearls; Art and exotic lands provide her splendor With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli; The worm presents its golden threads; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or digs, All shed their adornments for her, Which look better on her than on themselves; p. 42And all, By their ability to give, Proving her right to take, announce Her beauty’s clear privilege To benefit from Eden’s fault.

That nothing here should go unappreciated,
Know that she who shows off her style
Has a great and understated taste, displaying
More beauty than she hides.

‘Charmingly meek or proudly willing to
Claim a queenly admiration,
Many ladies have inspired
My anxious imagination,
And created many fleeting bonds;
But never has there been a woman like this,
Who captures me like a weather-vane
Is held by that clematis over there.
She seems to embody the essence of nature;
Her beauty is the warm thought
That makes the sunshine bright; without her,
The flowers would be nothing.’

A voice, even sweeter because it was unexpected,
said or sang, “Good morning!” Her face
looked like the morning itself.
Her sisters were walking in the garden,
and asked me if I wanted to join. Across the hall,
She led me, and we laughed and chatted,
praising the flower show and the ball;
And Mildred’s pinks had won the prize;
Then, moving like a light-footed fawn,
She brought me “Wiltshire Butterflies,”
the prize book; then we walked on the lawn,
Trimmed close, with beds of geraniums,
a competing display of green and red;
We counted sixty apricots
on one small tree; the goldfish were fed;
And we watched where, black with scarlet spots,
Proud Psyche stood, shining like a flame,
Showing and closing her splendid fans;
And in the prize, we found its name.

The sweet hour passed, leaving me
With a heavy heart full of joy and care;
And this happiness, which life weighed down,
Turned into fixed goals that required
prayer.
p. 44I rode home slowly, whip in hand
And soiled banknotes all ready, stood
The Farmer who worked all my land,
Except for the little Park and Wood;
And with the usual small talk
About beef and frothy beer,
I, my own manager, collected my rent,
Three hundred pounds for half a year;
Our witnesses the Cook and Groom,
We signed the lease for seven more years,
And said goodbye; then I went to my room
And closed and locked the door,
And threw myself down on my bed,
And there, with many blissful tears,
I vowed to love and prayed to marry
The girl who had become so dear;
Thanked God who had put her in my way;
And promised, as I hoped to win her,
That I would never compromise my faith
With the slightest selfishness or sin;
Whatever I appeared to her
I’d truly be; I’d never mix
My joy in her with a dream
That would change her face to understand;
And, if she wished it, I would choose
Another’s success over my own;
And always seek the best for her
With genuine tenderness.

Rising, I breathed a brighter air,
And found myself feeling uplifted,
And, with a huge sense of generosity,
I didn’t judge those who didn’t care:
And I couldn’t help but feel that at that moment
I glowed with a bit of her beauty,
And went out to my fellow humans
With my approval written on my face.

Where is it? she succeeds with a clear mind,
In everyday life and in sacred matters,
He fails, despite his prayers and promises
And struggles with faith and effort;
Or, if he gets a favorable response from Heaven
to live righteously, his good deeds
Lack the charm that virtue brings; she fails
More gracefully than he succeeds.
Her spirit, made of kindness,
Whether Heaven delays or grants her prayer,
Feels no pride in its success,
And no despair in its failure;
But his, obsessed with its wounds,
Frustrated, curses, or, not denied,
Boasts from the lowly ground of despair,
And flaps its ugly wings in pride.
p. 47He’s never young or fulfilled; she matures
More childlike, radiant, gentle,
And the more she lives and learns,
The lovelier she appears as a child.
Say she lacks the ambition of man
To achieve fame, unbothered by challenges,
Nor swayed when others praise or criticize;
She wants only what would be a loss to have.
Or say she lacks the patient mind
To uncover hidden truths; her quick wit
Easily hits the mark that he struggles to find
With effort and pain.
If she were just half of what she is,
He would be double himself, purely through love alone,
Her unique strength, just as truth is his,
Gives her the rightful place on a higher throne;
For love is substance, truth is the shape;
Truth without love is worth nothing;
But the most blind love is sweet and warm,
And full of truth not formed by thought,
And therefore she stands on her own
Adorned with unending grace,
Her joyful virtues holding hands,
Each smiling at the other.
So, dancing around the Tree of Life,
They create an Eden in her heart,
While his, fragmented and in conflict,
Proud and restless, does not bring him peace.

If fate loves to crush ambition,
And fills his heart with endless pain,
And seems to erase both sun and star,
Love, whether won or lost, is priceless;
His sorrow holds a hidden joy
That sorrow itself distracts,
And love, even in tears, is too noble
For pity, except for love in smiles.
But, looking back through his tears,
With a clearer view of life,
How often one lost joy stands
As the foundation for a better hope!
And, let’s be honest, the sharpest pain
That human patience can endure
Feels small compared to what leaves the heart
More generous, dignified, and pure.

They walk safely in the darkest paths
   Whose youth is lit from above,
Where, through the silver mist of the senses,
   The hidden moon of bridal love begins to rise.
p. 49Who is the happy husband? He
   Who, looking back at his single life,
Thanks heaven, with a clear conscience,
   Was true to his future wife.

Deadly in impact, yet gentle in intention,
   Defeats, from her, are gentle agreements,
For, like the caring lodestone, still
   She’s pulled towards what she attracts.

I didn’t go to the Dean’s invitation:
I wouldn’t have my secret,
So delicately hidden by her,
The gossip's guesses at their tea.
A long, long week, and not once there,
Had made my spirit sick and weak,
And unrequited love, as ugly as love is beautiful,
Twisted everything into complaints.
p. 50How vain the world has become!
How petty all people and their ways,
How ignorant their sympathy,
And how rude their praise;
What they consider virtuous,
How far it is from heavenly right;
What pettiness their troubles seem,
How unpleasurable their joy;
To my needs how strange
The sunshine and the song of birds;
How dull the clouds’ constant shifts,
How foolishly content the herds;
How inexplicable the rule
That made me sit here in the dark,
While she, the sun by which I saw,
Shined brightly in an idle space!
And then I kissed her stolen glove,
And sighed to count and define
The different kinds of suffering in love,
And how much each one could be mine.
I thought how love, whose vast realm
Is earth and air and sun and sea,
Often meets the beggar’s fate,
Disregarded because of poverty;
How Heaven, incomprehensible in this,
Lets the general masses make or break
The fate of love, which is
So tender and personal;
p. 51How nature, as unnatural
And contradicting its own source,
Which is just love, seems most of all
Happy to disrupt true love’s path;
How, many times, it happens
That trivial differences in temperament,
Only affecting one, sadly,
Prevent not love, but love’s success;
How manners often misrepresent
The person; how passionate respect,
Hidden from itself, may carry the stain
Of coldness and dull neglect;
And how a little outside dust
Can completely obscure true worth,
And make her dangerously unjust,
And him desire a darker cover;
How senseless opportunity
Gives lesser men the upper hand;
How otherwise opposing powers
Agree to deceive her in her ignorance;
How Heaven itself conspires
With man and nature against love,
As if pleased to unite conflicting desires,
And to cross where they themselves agree.
Life would be miserable if it ended now!
But this brings tears to dry despair,
Faith will be blessed, we don’t know how,
And love fulfilled, we don’t know where.

While I was grieving and kissing her glove,
My man brought in her note to say,
Her dad had sent his love,
And would I join them for dinner the next day?
They had learned and practiced Purcell’s glee,
To sing it by tomorrow night.
The postscript said: Her sisters and she
Included some violets, blue and white;
She and her sisters found them where
I bet once no violets grew;
So they had ended up with the gloves. And there
The violets lay, two white, one blue.

Most rare is still most noble found,
Most noble still most incomplete;
Sad law, which leaves King Love uncrowned
In this obscure, earthly place!
With pain more sweet than others’ joy,
And joy more wise than others’ pain,
The secrets of the world are his.
And freedom without limit or restraint.
O, zealous good, O, virtuous joy,
Pure and without flaw,
O, high privilege, which only he
Who truly deserves can enjoy;
O, Love, who are that legendary sun
Which blesses the world abundantly,
Without regard for kingdoms, except one,
And shines with double brilliance on Rhodes;
p. 54A day of whose delightful life,
Though full of fears, full of tears,
Is better than the life of others
A hundred thousand million years;
Thy heavenly brightness magnifies
The smallest mixture of earth's clay,
Cheapens thyself in thine own sight,
And makes the foolish mocker bold.

What if my guiding star of respect
Seems dim to others? Should their
‘No,’
Probably their own flaw,
Disqualify my heart’s strong
‘Yes’?
And can they truly judge me,
If I, with selective love, choose?
I’m not being unfair to them,
Just not unfair to her.
Leave us be! After some time,
This pool of private kindness
Shall make its land an island,
And roll, a world-embracing sea;
This foolish passion of one for another,
This loving, self-justifying, deliberate thrill,
Is that chosen relationship
Which creates and validates all the rest;
p. 55This
little seed of marital love,
That grows so effortlessly from the ground,
The root is, as my song will show,
Of all our love for humanity and God.

What measure fate has in store for him
Isn’t something the noble lover worries about;
He’s heartbroken with a sweet longing
To make her happy because she’s beautiful.
Oh, the misery if she were to refuse him,
And thus misunderstand her own true good!
He pursues his own success
With passionate zeal, all for her sake.
Losing her would darken his life,
Just as it would be a loss for her; to make her his,
Except as a way to help her delight,
He sees it as just a fleeting happiness;
And considering life as merely a means
To buy her flowers, he learns this lesson:
He doesn’t truly love himself
Who doesn’t love another more.

Kind souls, you wonder why we love you,
When you, yourself, wonder why you love no one.
We love, Fool, for the good we do,
Not for what is done to us!

The ladies stood up. I opened the door,
And sighed, as her graceful exit
Confirmed that she always had
A heart as joyful as her smile;
And, envious of the winds that gusted,
I feared, over the bland wine,
What fate might suddenly do
To damage the hope that she’d be mine.

Towards my goal, the Dean's speech was focused:
He praised my ‘Notes on Abury,’
Read when the Association gathered
At Sarum; he was happy to see
p. 57I hadn't
stopped, like some others had,
At Wrangler and Prize Poet; finally,
He hoped the matter I brought up was not bad
Then the wine was passed around.

A full glass preceded my response:
I loved his daughter, Honor; I shared
My background and my plans; could I try
To win her love? At my bold words,
My anxious heart sank. Then he spoke: he gave
His happy consent if I could earn
Her love. A sweet, good girl! She would have
Only three thousand pounds for now;
More would come later. Yes, his good wishes
Would support me; he wouldn’t interfere;
He and my father had always hoped
That I would one day marry her;
But God rarely allows us to follow
Our chosen paths when they affect
The lives of others, either for better or worse.
So, while his blessing and prayers
Might help my case, he left everything to me,
his passive role being consent and opportunity.
p. 58He hoped I had a good chance: I’d earned
Some reputation already; friends and position
Were within my grasp, but none
Would match her mind and character.
Girls like to see the men they admire adored;
Besides, where there is goodness, there’s room
For good things to flourish.
It was the same with one who has now passed;
And what she was at twenty-two,
Honor is now; and he could say
Mine was a choice I wouldn’t regret.

He stopped and extended his hand. He had won
(And all my heart was in my word),
From me the love of a son,
Regardless of the fate Heaven granted!
Well, would I like more wine? Then go
To her; she brews tea on the lawn
These lovely warm afternoons. And so
We went where my soul was drawn;
And her cheerful ignorance
Of our conversation
Filled me with love and seemed to enhance
Her beauty with a touching power,
p. 59As, through the sweet flowery paths,
Facing the wind that danced joyfully,
And adored her figure, and kissed her feet,
Shown to their proud and graceful arches,
She approached, all gentleness and young trust,
And her pure and noble presence
Gave love’s feast its finest flavor,
A vague, faint hint of despair.

How terrible it would be to undeserve
The poet's gift of perfect words,
To attempt in song, with trembling nerves,
The limits of its fullest reach,
Only to hear the miserable praise
Of what tomorrow won't ever be;
So mocking with immortal glory
The reminders of mortality!
I do not feel this way. My faith is strong
That all the beauty I sing
Is meant to withstand the forces of life,
And flourish in a better Spring.
Doubts about eternity never cloud
The Lover’s mind, so clear;
Forever is the gain or loss
That drives him crazy with hope or fear:
p. 61So little things
Serve as his relief,
And little things make him sick and pale;
And yet his joy and his sorrow
Are both on a grand scale.
The chance, incredibly small,
Of outcomes infinitely significant,
Outweighs all finite concerns,
And carries the weight of fate.

How long will people reject the flower
Just because its roots are in the ground,
And cry with tears to God for the riches
They already have but look down on as scarcity,
And look down on their human existence,
With wild pride, too blinded to realize
That standing on their heads doesn’t lead
To either comfort or respect!
But fools will realize they’ve been foolish to discover
(Too late warned) that the joy of angels
Is the same in cause, style, and essence
As what they desecrated on earth.

To calm my heart, I pretended to grab
A pen, and, with tears streaming down, I admitted
My genuine feelings; sadly satisfied
Only to dream that I had the courage to do so.
So the passionate truth was revealed,
But my argument ran wild with contradictions.
As stubbornly hopeful as I was downcast,
Yet bold beyond what hope could guarantee:

‘Oh, more than dear, be more than just,
And don’t just shut the door!
I have no right to speak; I rely on
Mercy, not right; yet who has more?
For if more love doesn’t make one more deserving,
None of us here is more or less,
Since your great worth doesn’t allow
Ranks in our unworthiness.
Yet, if there’s anything that can be achieved
Through years of hard work,
By which you’ll say that I can win you,
Oh tell me, and I’ll dry my tears.
Ah, no; if love can’t move you,
How foolish it is to think labor will!
The purpose of actions is to show love;
If gestures are enough, let these serve:
p. 63Your name
When I hear it, my heart feels
Like the breath of a violet,
Which shares so much of heaven
It makes me long for death;
The winds that shake the garden
With the Guelder-roses cause me pain,
Filling me with the fear of loss,
Exhausting me with the dream of gain;
I’m troubled by the clouds that move;
Tired by the breath that I take;
And ever, like a torch, my love,
Continues to blaze higher;
Everything is hard without you as the goal;
I can barely move my hand to write,
For love occupies all my soul,
Leaving my body without strength;
The wings of my will spread idly, like
A bird stuck in a vacuum;
My heart, asleep with dreams of you,
Forgets to breathe and bursts into sighs;
I see no rest this side of the grave,
No rest or hope, apart from you;
Your life is in the rose you gave,
Its fragrance suffocates my heart;
There’s no refreshment in the breeze;
The sky overwhelms me with its blue;
I faint beside the dancing seas;
Winds, skies, and waves are all you;
p. 64The thought or action that doesn’t involve
Your service seems a sin and shame;
In that one object ends
Conscience, religion, honor, fame.
Ah, if only I could set love aside! Could we
Have never met! What calm, what ease!
No, but, oh, this remedy
Would be ten times worse than the disease!
For when I thoughtlessly seek
The world’s pleasures for relief,
My heart, still sickening for you,
Finds none like the memory of its grief;
And though it would be hell to know
You felt as miserable as I,
All good, except for you, would be far less dear!
Than this pain with which I die;
Wherever I go, wandering alone,
You are the world’s love, life, and joy:
Oh, unbearable misery
If she who is Love does not love me!’

I couldn’t write another word,
Feeling sorry for my own troubles;
And so I left, unprepared to face
Whatever might ease my misery or make it worse.
p. 65I walked, under the hot afternoon sun,
To where, in her simplicity,
She sat working; and, like the Moon
Smiling on Ætna, she smiled at me.
But now and then, in her cheeks and eyes,
I caught, or thought I saw, a glow
Like when, in summer evening skies,
Some say, ‘It’s lightning,’ some say, ‘No.’
‘Honoria,’ I started—No more.
The Dean, by unfortunate or fortunate chance,
Came home; and Wolf burst in before,
And rested his nose on her lap.

What’s up that, which, before I spoke, was gone?
Such a joyful and intense spark
That, while the wonder shone above,
The day, which was dull before, grew dark.
I don’t know; but this I do know,
That, if the brilliance had lasted a year,
The truth that I saw in some heavenly display
Could not be clearer now.
I know this too: if human words
Could express the passion that was inspired then,
Evil would naturally fade away,
And nothing fleeting would be desired;
And mistakes would leave the soul,
Making the senses pure and strong
As sunbeams. But the best, unfortunately,
Has neither memory nor voice!

An idle poet, here and there,
Looks around; but for everyone else,
The world, incredibly beautiful,
Is duller than a foolish joke.
Love awakens people, once in a lifetime;
They lift their heavy eyelids and look;
And, wow, what one sweet page can teach,
They read with joy, then close the book.
And some give thanks, and some curse,
And most forget; but either way,
That and the Child’s unnoticed dream
Is all the light of all their day.

Not during the crises of events,
   Of limited hopes or fulfilled fears,
Or actions of the greatest importance,
   Are life’s joy and depth revealed.
The most important day wasn’t the day;
   It was the day before, or the one that was delayed;
The night Death took our light away
   Was not the night we sighed.
p. 68I brought my bride, under the moon,
   Across my threshold; what a happy hour!
But, oh, the walk that afternoon
   We saw the water-flags blooming!

Look, where love, life, and light are poured,
Covered with impenetrable rays,
In the presence of the Lord
Co-equal Wisdom laughs and plays.
Male and female, God created humankind;
His image is the entirety, not a part;
And in our love, we faintly perceive
The love that exists between Him.

Spirit of Knowledge, grant me this:
A humble heart and keen mind
To celebrate the thing that deserves praise
That everything worthy of praise is it.

Breakfast enjoyed, amidst the quiet of the trees
And scents blowing through the windows;
A brief moment of worship, which still gifts
The day with a beauty of its own;
With a pause that enhances
Each action with honor, life with calm
(Like ancient processions of Saints
Where every step is marked with palm branches),
We got up; the ladies went to get ready,
And soon returned with smiles; and then,
Plans set, to which the Dean agreed,
We drove once more to Salisbury Plain.
We passed my house (admired by Mildred,
Mary agreed),
And left the old and slow horses
Below the hill, and walked the rest.

The feelings of love are like the wind,
And no one knows where they come from or why they happen:
I’ve never felt my heart and mind
So deeply moved through my eyes.
p. 70How connected to the flattering air,
How perfectly made for this earthly realm,
She moved; how graceful and how beautiful
For the happiness of others and her own!
And, oh, the beauty of her face!
How, when she laughed, I seemed to
See the joy of pure grace,
And how, when serious, its dignity!
Of everything she was, even the smallest thing
Delighted the devoted gaze;
No wrinkle or style of her dress
Did not enhance her beauty.
I couldn't help but feel sad. Why?
Was I not blessed? Was she not here?
So likely to be mine? Ah, but it was:
How much ‘likely’ felt like despair!

And yet to see her so kind,
So honorable and feminine,
In every girl’s kindness mine,
And full of the brightest courtesy,
Was pleasure without any downside,
Such unblemished, pure bliss,
I almost wished, in that moment, that joy
Might never go beyond this.
p. 71So much it was to walk now,
And humbly by her gentle side
Observe her smile and hear her talk,
Could it be more than to call her my wife?
I imagined her won: the finite mind,
Confused and worn out by stress and strain
To understand the whole delight,
Made bliss harder to bear than pain.
All good, except a heart to hold it, so summed
And grasped, the thought hit, like a knife,
How lost mortality had numbed
The feelings to the feast of life;
How fleeting good breathes the sweetest air;
And love itself at its highest reveals
More dark than bright, praising death
By teaching how much life conceals.

But happier feelings took over,
When we stepped out from the stuffy lane,
With eyes brightened by what we saw,
We came out onto the rolling Plain.
Just like a flag unfurling in the breeze,
My spirit lifted, warmly welcomed
By those same gusts that tousled her hair
And stirred the ribbon at her waist.
p. 72Looking ahead, I set aside my worries;
Breathing freely, my heart unburdened,
And laughed at the bold airs
That wrapped me in her light fabric;
Until, like a shadow crossing my sky,
The thought that she might never be mine
Became almost forgotten by my gaze
So absorbed in the sun’s warm glow.

By the big stones, we chose our spot
For shade; and there, in sweet conversation,
We had lunch. On a little mound
Sat the three ladies; at their feet
I sat, enjoying the earthy smell,
Picking harebells, turning the
Telescope to the landscape around. My life was good,
For once, without the wheels of hope;
And I looked down on the Druid rocks
That glared their cold gloom from above,
Like surly fools whose stubborn wisdom mocks
The joy of eternal love.
And as we talked, my spirit drank
The refreshing winds; the clear skies
Laughed at our unrealistic oddness;
I kissed her smiling eyes with mine;
p. 73And sweet familiarity and awe
Reigned that hour for both of us,
And in the everlasting light, I saw
That she was mine; though my heart
Could not understand, nor would admit
Such contentment; and there grew
More form and more beautiful grace
Than ever before between us two.

A guy must be happy; but making him happy
is a woman's joy; into the depths
of his supported needs
she gives her all, she throws herself.
How often she gives for nothing, and ties
her heart to an ice-cold person or a whim,
each impatient word of his provoking
another from him, not from her;
While she, too kind to force
his remorse with gentle replies,
waits nearby, hoping for his regret,
with forgiveness in her compassionate eyes;
And if he ever, feeling shame,
offers a kind word,
she leans in and cries against his chest,
and seems to feel the fault was hers;
p. 75And as long as his love is alive,
or any eye can see her beauty,
at any time, she’s still his wife,
deeply devoted to his embrace;
She loves with a love that never tires;
and when, oh how sad, she loves alone,
through passionate duty, love grows stronger,
like grass growing taller around a stone.

Is nature in you too lifeless,
Unworthy, powerless, and dull,
To appreciate her beauty and charm
More for being your daily sustenance?
And are you part of that sinful group
That sees no brilliance in the sun,
Only praising what is new,
Or what’s already gone, or not yet begun?
And has it occurred to your dull mind
That love brings warmth to many like a cozy nest,
That, even wrapped in comforts,
You are not uniquely blessed?
And do you fail to give thanks for divine gifts,
The shared nourishment of many hearts,
Because they aren’t just yours?
Beware that in the end you become
p. 76Cast out
Because of your pride from the fold,
Too good to feel the common grace
Of countless joyful souls who see
Forever the Father’s face.

Give thanks. It's not a waste of time;
The worst food gets better, and the best,
Without this natural seasoning,
Becomes bland and hard to digest.
The thankful follow the Giver’s law;
But those who eat without looking higher,
Draw from sin or questionable approval
The bitter seasoning their meals require.
Give thanks for nothing, if you have no more,
And if you have everything, don’t doubt
That nothing, with thanks, is blessed before
Anything the world can provide, outside.

Gift the fool with the sun and moon,
   He takes them for granted and thinks little of them,
But for the wise, a small favor
   Means a lot, because of who gave it.

I stood by Honor and the Dean,
They seated in the London train.
A month since I last saw her! yet this had been,
Before now, without such bitter pain.
But being close makes parting easier,
And distance doesn’t fix anything;
When she was close, I felt like
A blind man sitting in the sun;
She was near, and everything felt good;
Hope itself, when we were far apart,
With lonely feelings, like the scent
Of heather on mountains, filled my heart.
Seeing her seemed like the peak of joy,
And her kind smile, so free of worry,
Even then, though darkening all my hope,
Made the cloud of my despair shine.

She forgot to bring a book.
I lent her one; I blamed the print for being old;
And didn’t tell her that she took
A Petrarch worth its weight in gold.
p. 78I hoped she’d lose it; because my love
Had become so delicate, refined, and particular,
It valued no luxury above
The feeling of pointless sacrifice.

The bell rang, and with screams like death,
   The chain clinked together in a long line,
With heavy beats and fiery breath,
   Proud of its load, it swept away;
And through the lingering crowd, I pushed through,
   Headed for the hillside, feeling heartbroken,
I saw, in the distance, the small smoke
   Rising quickly across the landscape.

What should I do, where should I go,
Now that she’s gone, my love! For her
She was, whatever here below
Crossed or took my rightful place.
Life without her was pointless and dull,
The shine from the world was lost,
And in the gardens of the Close
The sun shone like it does on the Sahara.
Crushed by her lost grace,
My thoughts were fed by bad ideas;
The dreadful vibe of the place
She went to filled my soul with fear.
p. 79She,
mingling with the people there,
Might come back changed, having picked up
The silly, trendy attitude
Of knowing everything and feeling nothing.
Or, dizzy from all the compliments on her beauty,
She’d look down on our simple country life,
Its peaceful nights and calm days.
And wouldn’t lower herself to be my wife.
‘My wife,’ ‘my wife,’ oh, sweetest word!
How often, afraid she might hear,
Whispering that name of ‘wife,’ I heard
The ringing of the deepest universe.

I walked by the home of my regrets.
   The clock was chiming in the hallway,
And one lonely window was still open,
   Even though the dew was starting to fall.
Ah, from a distance, her beauty seemed endless!
   How light-hearted and innocent
That loveliness which crushed hope
   And adorned the world around her!
How perfectly her life was put together;
   And, thinking of her in that emotional state,
How her touching grace put to shame
   The ordinary life that was merely good!

I wondered if her bird would be fed,
If her rose beds would be watered while she was away;
Filling my heart with angry dread
Of unexpected, unlikely harm.
So, filled with love and deep regret,
I walked the Close, every part of it
Endowed with a sacred power
To heal and revive my heart from despair.
How peaceful and timeless
The area was! Once, through that gate,
I saw her walk by and recognized from a distance
Her love-lit figure and gentle presence.
Her dress had brushed against this gate; here
She turned her face and laughed, with
Light like moonbeams on a shimmering lake.
Already tired of the night,
I left; the blackbird, in the woods
Sang to itself, and eastward in the sky
The symbol of my mood grew,
Where one bright star dominated the blue.

If Wisdom wanted to be pursued for herself,
And wake the foolish from his dream,
She needs to be joyful as well as good,
And must not just be, but appear.
Beauty and joy are hers by right;
And knowing this, I’m less surprised
That she’s so dismissed when wrongly dressed
In misery and ugliness.
What is it that Heaven makes dear to man,
And that which eyes can hardly see
Before the heart declares, with floods of tears,
‘Ah, that’s what I wish to be!’
Not childhood, full of frowns and frustrations;
Not youth, eager to reject
Those high visions, which to forget
Would be worse than never having known;
p. 82Not worldlings, who only have
An outward appearance of courtesy and justice,
Thanks to conflicting vices tied,
Like Samson’s foxes, by their tails;
Not poets; real things are dreams,
When dreams feel as real as reality,
And those who boast of heavenly rays
Stumble for lack of sight;
Not patriots or champions of the people,
Where two mismatched evils meet,
Than ever sought Adullam’s den,
Base conscience and arrogance;
Not newly made saints, their feelings frozen,
Their joy in man and nature lost,
Who sing ‘Oh, the easy yoke of Christ!’
But find it’s hard to put it on;
Not great men, even when they’re good;
The good man whom the times elevate,
By some disgrace of chance or blood,
God doesn’t fail to humiliate;
Not these: but souls, found here and there,
Oases in our wasteland of sin,
Where everything is beautiful and fair,
And Heaven softens its discipline;
Whose sweet control over the world
The worldly can barely recognize,
And ridicule, aimed against it,
Falls flat, with a broken sting and dies;
p. 83Who nobly, if they can’t tell
Whether a shield’s unclear field
Shows a falcon or a crow,
Imagine a falcon on the shield;
Yet, ever careful not to harm
God’s honor, who creates success,
Their praise of even the greatest works
Is based on not having presumed too much;
Who, should their own life earn applause,
Are simply troubled in their hearts that such
An easy, yes, delightful thing
Should move the minds of men so greatly.
They live by law, not like the fool,
But like the bard, who sings freely
Within the strictest rules of rhyme,
And finds in them, not chains, but wings.
Still putting off their personal ease
For societal customs, appetites,
Subjected to traditions,
They go to banquets with full joy;
Indeed, restraint and gratitude
So purify their lives from earth’s impurities,
They taste, in Nature’s simple food,
Nothing but spiritual joy.
They shine like Moses in his face,
And teach our hearts, without the rod,
That God’s grace is the only grace,
And all grace is the grace of God.

Love, embraced by Wisdom, awakens twice Love,
And Wisdom, through love, becomes wise.
Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove,
This Wisdom be, that Love's design.

I woke up at three because I was invited to have breakfast with the Dean at nine, and then to church. My curtain slid open, and I saw that the dawn of Sunday was nice, so I couldn't stay in bed and got up. The air was dark and crisp; the birds perched on their nests were chirping, "Here I am, sweet; are you there?" On the misty fields of Avon, the cattle anxiously awaited the day, which slowly lit up the clouds above. A rooster crowed somewhere far away; the wedding dove was cooing in its sleep. No wind stirred the woods, nor disturbed the dampness of the midnight river, nor shook the poplar trees; the chestnut tree stood still, adorned with its thousand glowing lamps. The moon was still shining, but weak and gloomy, and seemed to watch the landscape, all made sharp and clear by the stillness, like a face illuminated by death.

My prayers for her being done, I took
the opportunity during the quiet hour
to find out and understand, by the rules and the book,
the rights of love's beloved power.

Facing the question without mercy,
And knowing full well that, always,
If people are willing to embrace the Truth,
It elevates them higher than ever,
I, from above, needed such light
That would once and for all eliminate
The foolishness that sometimes sought
Approval for such immense joy.

From then on, through that prayer, I walked
A path without any doubts.
I loved her in the name of God,
And for the light she was of Him;
p. 86I should admire her even more, not less
Her beauty was a divine grace;
The mystery of loveliness,
Which turned her face into an altar,
Was not just physical, though she was beautiful,
But a pure and living light
Without a name, by which the rare
And virtuous spirit shone through.
If often, in love, effect lacked cause
And cause lacked effect, it would be pointless to search
For reasons to seek what was
Reason itself, or something beyond.
My joy wasn’t idolatry
Focused on the lowly earth,
For when I loved her the most, then I
Yearned for something more divine.
That other doubt, which, like a ghost,
Haunted the darkness of my mind,
Was resolved: I loved Him most,
But I loved her most deeply.
Finally, my wildest hope allowed
No selfish thought or earthly stain;
And I went forth, in peace, and proud
To bring my passion into Church;
Grateful and happy to think that all
Such doubts would seem completely pointless
To her whose lighter nature
Kept heart and mind together.

I found them, looking absolutely stunning
And fresh as Spring, dressed for the season;
And from the glow on her face,
I could tell she knew she was admired;
And, through the random twist of love,
A moment's lucky delay,
To adjust the little lilac glove,
She offered me her arm; and I along with them
(They true to this and every moment,
As if accompanied by Time),
Entered the Church while the tower
Was still ringing with the final chime.

Her soft voice, uniquely heard
Next to me, in her song, stood up
Against the loud voices, like a bird
Singing alone in a windy forest;
And when we knelt, she seemed to be
An angel teaching me how to pray;
And throughout the high Liturgy
My spirit celebrated without pause,
Being, for once, lifted clearly above
All limits and barriers of ignorance,
By this bright wave of pure love,
And floated in a wide open space,
p. 88From where it could see from side to side,
The darkness from every part
Was filtered away and purified
By the rhythms of my heart.

The woman’s gentle mood Overcomes my love, that lightly takes in The rest, and accepts in her All her own faults, but none of man’s. As a man, I can’t judge her badly, Or honor her noble station less, Who, with a woman’s flaws, still Maintains a woman’s gentleness; For I think, if I see Someone who disappoints my high desire, ‘How wonderful would she be, If she only knew how much I admire!’ Or if she fails, though free of blemish, To charm, I call it my defect; And so my thoughts, with respectful fear To err by foolish disrespect, p. 90Imputes love’s great value, and says, ‘Though it’s not obvious to me, Rest assured this Queen must sway Some others with well-recognized authority.’ Behold the worst! Light from above Writes on the blank ruin ‘Forbear! Her first mistake was unguarded love, And all the rest may be despair.’ Crowned, dejected, but not lost, O, sad one, with no name Or place among the honored ranks Of maidens and matron fame, Mourn on; but if you grieve right, It’s not that these despise your state, Nor would you lower at all the height That makes your downfall so great. Good is your lot in its place; For hearts that truly repent Are burdened with forgiveness And comforted by punishment. Sweet patience sanctify your sorrows! And don’t doubt that our God is just, Even if unscathed your betrayer goes, And you are struck to the ground. That penalty’s the best to bear Which follows closest after sin; And guilt’s a game where losers fare Better than those who seem to win.

It's true (even though this truth is a
star
too far away for everyone to see),
As poets of language, lovers are
the sources of morality.

Child, would you avoid the common fate,
In disgust of love, in despair of death?
Know that death is inevitable and love will come,
So prepare your soul for both.

Whoever chases pleasure kills joy;
He brings God's anger down on himself;
But all the joys brighten his days
Who takes with gratitude, and never seeks.

The wrong is created and defined by
The right’s twisted dignity.
Turn love into shame, for as love is elevated
So low in hell your bed will be.

How easy it is to stay away from sin!
   How hard it is to remember that freedom!
It's a terrible truth that people
   Forget the heavens they’ve fallen from.

p. 92Don’t let sacred love trap your soul,
With holy thoughts still wonder
‘How loving and how beautiful must he be
Who has created her!’

Become whatever good you see,
And don’t sigh if, right away, it fades from sight
The grace of which you may not be
Both the subject and the spectator at the same time.

Love’s perfect flower only blooms
Where good manners hide flaws
Angels might be close; those
Who make mistakes must respect each other.

Love talked about is a serious decline;
A thoughtless word undermines understanding;
But anyone who throws Heaven’s truth to pigs
Completes all kinds of immorality.

Not to reveal ourselves
To the eyes
Of an imperfect understanding
In anything we are, is the sweet praise
And the essence of humility.

‘My memory of Heaven awakens!
She’s not of this earth, but her light,
Like a lantern from her body, makes
Part of it painfully bright.
So innocently proud and beautiful
She is, that Wisdom sings in joy
And Folly breathes the same air
As such pure-hearted innocence;
And although her charms are a strong force
Compelling all men to admire,
They come wrapped in lovely awe
That only the noble dare desire.
He who tries to make her his
Will understand that graceful souls
Have a sweet repulsion, and that it’s
The nature of their embrace
To be like the majestic stretch
Of two suns, that from a distance,
Blend their mutual orbits, while each
Circles around the obedient star;
And in the warmth of hand to hand,
Of heart to heart, he’ll promise to see
And reverently understand
How the two spirits shine separately;
p. 94And never to dull the nerve of honor,
Nor let sweet awe in passion fade,
Nor fail in courtesies to respect
The distance that makes attraction felt;
Nor stop guarding like life the sense
That tells him that the embrace of love
Is over a chasm of difference
Love cannot measure, nor death erase.’

This I learned, watching her dance,
Born to the rhythm and glow,
And now and then she glanced at me,
Happy, as I hoped, to catch my eye.

Ah, I couldn't express my love,
Until music gave me a voice,
And I never understood what music was,
Until I danced to it with her.
I was too proud of the strength
Of my previously untainted joy.
My passion, for its punishment, that hour
Experienced the weight of mortality,
And pulled me down into a swirling abyss;
I wished the world would fall apart,
So I could just once throw myself
Obliviously around her neck.
p. 95I took her hand, by will or chance,
I don't know, but I noticed the light
Withdrawn, which until then had illuminated
Her beauty with its gratitude for praise.
I knew my spirit's vague wrongdoing
Was obvious to the dreaming gaze
And divine sensitivity of innocence,
And out of fear, I challenged my fear,
And asked her for the next dance.
‘Yes.’
‘No,’ wouldn't have struck me with half the
force.
She was filled with kindness,
And I was overcome with endless remorse;
And before I slept, on bended knee
I admitted, with many tears,
Out of place, chaotic,
And a disruptor of love’s domain;
I gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall,
We hurt ourselves, not the truth;
And, rising, found its light all
The brighter through the tears of sorrow.

My hope that night wasn't diminished,
Even though it was structured, humbled, and criticized;
Her goodbye showed her true feelings
Just as much, but without anger.
p. 96My troubles
had betrayed my soul;
And in the darkness of my despair,
My love, a flower scared of the noon,
Unconsciously revealed its fullness.
I saw that she noticed; and, oh sweet Heaven,
If only my joyful mind had believed
That I had the power to affect her like that,
I would have said
That, even though she hid from herself
Love's true joy and imagined pain,
They led her to the battleground
of joy and beautiful excitement.

She grows weary from an unknown illness;
   In her sleep, she sobs and seems to drift,
Like a water-lily, all alone
   In a lonely castle moat;
And as the full moon, ghostly, rests
   In the crescent’s shining embrace,
The present reveals to her indifferent eyes
   A future filled with vague fears.
She sees it, yet she barely perceives,
   For life-in-life hasn’t begun yet,
Too many mysteries surround it
   For her thoughts to settle on any one.
She hears that young women are greatly
   Honored and desired by young men;
And sighs, ‘If those sweet stories are true,
   What bliss it must be to be so admired!’
p. 98The suitors come; she sees them suffer;
   Her coldness fills them with despair;
She would feel pity if she could believe;
   She’s sorry that she cannot care.
But who now crosses her path?
   Is he coming as an enemy or a friend,
Or both?  Her heart seems to say,
   He cannot pass, and that’s the end.
Whom does he love?  Does he give
   His heart to a worth that matches his?
Or has he come to worship her?
   She fears, she hopes, she thinks he is!
Advancing silently, quickly, and still,
   Like a serpent gliding through the grass,
He captivates her fluttering will,
   Then terrifies her with his ominous steps.
At first, there’s nothing to resist;
   He battles with all forms of peace;
He surrounds her like a mist,
   Growing subtle, swift, and unseen;
And then, unexpectedly, he strikes hard,
   A blow that terrifies her to death,
And then returns to harmlessness,
   Before she can cry out or catch her breath.
At times she stops and stands her ground;
   But he, in every way stronger than she,
Subdues her with his pale dismay,
   Or his more admired audacity.
p. 99She plans some final, fatal blow,
   But when she aims to kill him with her frowns,
He looks as if he loves her so,
   She smiles at him against her will.
How sweetly he implies her worth!
   His tender words, his gentle tone,
The manly adoration in his gaze,
   Almost makes her heart his own.
With what grace he says her name;
   His manner always reminds her
That she is a woman, and still,
   The woman’s claim is taught by his respect.
Her charms, noticed to thrive first
   In his favored attentions,
When reflected in her mirror,
   Prove to be his most powerful allies.
Ah, where can a young woman flee,
   When a bold young man pursues her so quickly,
And a siege of tenderest courtesy,
   With hope that never fades, still renews!
Why flee so fast?  Her flattered heart
   Thanks him for finding her lovely and good;
She loves her fears; concealed joys hold
   The silly terrors of her blood;
In secret, sweet increments, her heart,
   Conquered, finds warmth from his desire;
She intensifies it, with hidden skill,
   And fuels love’s once-dreaded fire.
p. 100The generous faith he shows
   To all the signs of good in her
Redeems itself; his flattering words
   Bring forth the virtues they praise.
Her heart is three times richer in bliss,
   She’s three times gentler than before;
He gains the right to call her his,
   Now she’s so much more through him;
It’s heaven wherever she turns her head;
   It’s music when she speaks; it’s air
On which, uplifted, she seems to tread,
   Transformed by a happier sphere!
Ah, if only he, when troubled by doubts,
   Could see his tokens next to her heart,
At all his words and sighs perceived
   Pressed against its joyful rise!
But still she runs away.  If she should yield,
   It must not be believed or thought
That she surrenders; she’s chased to death, undone,
   Surprised and violently caught.

The storm cloud, whose ominous shade
Emits fumes from a core of smothered fire,
His uniform is worn by the beloved maid
Who denies herself to his desire.
p. 101Ah, grief that nearly crushes life,
To lie on his lonely bed,
And imagine her as another’s wife!
His mind is on fire, his heart is lead.
Finally sinking, as nature dictates,
Wrapped in sleep from his despair,
He sleeps only to gather strength
That goes to ease his exhausted care.
He wakes renewed for all the pain.
His only love, and she is married!
His affection wraps around his heart,
Like milk that comes when a baby is dead.
The miserable wretch, whom she deemed fit for scorn,
Despises his own loyal thoughts;
And deep into the shining morning
Lethargic with misery he lies.