The Pre-Raphaelites Sat 15 May 2010 Her

The Pre-Raphaelites Sat, 15 May 2010

Her arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say; Barefooted came the beggar maid Before the king Cophetua. In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way; “It is no wonder, ” said the lords, “She is more beautiful than day. ” As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen: One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been: Cophetua sware a royal oath: “This beggar maid shall be my queen!” (Tennyson, “The Beggar Maid”) Sat, 15 May 2010

Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, “She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott. ” Sat, 15 May 2010

The blessed damozel lean'd out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters still'd at even; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly worn; Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn. It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. (D. G. Rossetti, “The Blessed Damozel”) Sat, 15 May 2010

Sat, 15 May 2010 (William Holman Hunt)

At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart: And as the last slow sudden drops are shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled, So singly flagged the pulses of each heart. Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start Of married flowers to either side outspread From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red, Fawned on each other where they lay apart. Sleep sank them lower than the tide of dreams, And their dreams watched them sink, and slid away. Slowly their souls swam up again, through gleams Of watered light and dull drowned waifs of day; Till from some wonder of new woods and streams He woke, and wondered more: for there she lay. (D. G. Rossetti, “Nuptial Sleep” from The House of Life) Sat, 15 May 2010

A Sonnet is a moment’s monument, — Memorial from the Soul’s eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, Of its own arduous fulness reverent: Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals The soul, —its converse, to what Power ’tis due: — Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love’s high retinue, It serve, or, ’mid the dark wharf’s cavernous breath, In Charon’s palm it pay the toll to Death. (D. G. Rossetti, “A Sonnet” from The House of Life) Sat, 15 May 2010

Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve, ) That, ere the snake’s, her sweet tongue could deceive, And her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, young while the earth is old, And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, Till heart and body and life are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her flower; for where Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth’s eyes burned at thine, so went Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent And round his heart one strangling golden hair. (Dante Gabriel Rossetti, “Lilith, ” renamed “Body’s Beauty”) Sat, 15 May 2010

Sat, 15 May 2010

Under the arch of Life, where love and death, Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath. Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, The sky and sea bend on thee, —which can draw, By sea or sky or woman, to one law, The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath. This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still, —long known to thee By flying hair and fluttering hem, —the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet, How passionately and irretrievably, In what fond flight, how many ways and days! (D. G. Rossetti, “Soul’s Beauty” Sat, 15 May 2010

Sat, 15 May 2010

She sat and sang always By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept always Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air. (Christina Rossetti, “Song”) Sat, 15 May 2010

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann’d: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. (Christina Rossetti, “Remember”) Sat, 15 May 2010

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign. In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day, Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him, whom angels fall before, The ox and ass and camel which adore. Angels and archangels may have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air; But His mother only, in her maiden bliss, Worshipped the beloved with a kiss. What can I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part; Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart. Sat, 15 May 2010 (Christina Rossetti, “In the Bleak Midwinter”)

Gerard Manley Hopkins “Remember … that it is … made for performance, and that its performance is not reading with the eye but loud, leisurely, poetical (not rhetorical) recitation, with long rests, long dwells on the rhyme and other marked syllables, and so on. ” Sat, 15 May 2010

Heaven—Haven A nun takes the veil I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea. Sat, 15 May 2010

Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there! Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves’-eyes! The grey lawns cold where gold, where quickgold lies! Wind-beat whitebeam! airy abeles set on a flare! Flake-doves sent floating forth at a farmyard scare! Ah well! it is all purchase, all is a prize. Buy then! bid then!—What? —Prayer, patience, alms, vows. Look, look: a May-mess, like on orchard boughs! Look! March-bloom, like on mealed-with-yellow sallows! These are indeed the barn; withindoors house The shocks. This piece-bright paling shuts the spouse Christ home, Christ and his mother and all his hallows. (“The Starlight Night”) Sat, 15 May 2010

Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, ′ vaulty, voluminous, … stupendous Evening strains to be time’s vást, ′ womb-of all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night. Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, ′ her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height Waste; her earliest stars, earl-stars, ′ stárs principal, overbend us, Fíre-féaturing heaven. For earth ′ her being has unbound, her dapple is at an end, astray or aswarm, all throughther, in throngs; ′ self ín self steepèd and páshed—quíte Disremembering, dísmémbering ′ áll now. Heart, you round me right With: Óur évening is over us; óur night ′ whélms, ánd will end us. Only the beak-leaved boughs dragonish ′ damask the tool-smooth bleak light; black, Ever so black on it. Óur tale, O óur oracle! ′ lét life, wáned, ah lét life wind Off hér once skéined stained véined varíety ′ upon, áll on twó spools; párt, pen, páck Now her áll in twó flocks, twó folds—black, white; ′ right, wrong; reckon but, reck but, mind But thése two; wáre of a wórld where bút these ′ twó tell, each off the óther; of a rack Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe- and shelterless, ′ thóughts agaínst thoughts ín groans grínd. (“Spelt from Sybil’s Leaves”) Sat, 15 May 2010