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George Eliot '1819…1880'
SONNETS
From 〃Mimma Bella〃
I
Have dark Egyptians stolen Thee away;
Oh Baby; Baby; in whose cot we peer
As down some empty gulf that opens sheer
And fathomless; illumined by no ray?
And wilt thou come; on some far distant day;
With unknown face; and say; 〃Behold! I'm here;
The child you lost;〃 while we in sudden fear;
Dumb with great doubt; shall find no word to say?
One darker than dark gipsy holds thee fast;
One whose strong fingers none has forced apart
Since first they closed on things that were too fair;
Nor shall we see thee other than thou wast;
But such as thou art printed in the heart;
In changeless baby loveliness still there。
II
Two springs she saw … two radiant Tuscan springs;
What time the wild red tulips are aflame
In the new wheat; and wreaths of young vine frame
The daffodils that every light breeze swings;
And the anemones that April brings
Make purple pools; as if Adonis came
Just there to die; and Florence scrolls her name
In every blossom Primavera flings。
Now; when the scented iris; straight and tall;
Shall hedge the garden gravel once again
With pale blue flags; at May's exulting call;
And when the amber roses; wet with rain;
Shall tapestry the old gray villa wall;
We; left alone; shall seek one bud in vain。
IV
Oh; rosy as the lining of a shell
Were the wee hands that now are white as snows;
And like pink coral; with their elfin toes;
The feet that on life's brambles never fell。
And with its tiny smile; adorable
The mouth that never knew life's bitter sloes;
And like the incurved petal of a rose
The little ear; now deaf in Death's strong spell。
Now; while the seasons in their order roll;
And sun and rain pour down from God's great dome;
And deathless stars shine nightly overhead;
Near other children; with her little doll;
She waits the wizard that will never come
To wake the sleep…struck playground of the dead。
VI
Oh; bless the law that veils the Future's face;
For who could smile into a baby's eyes;
Or bear the beauty of the evening skies;
If he could see what cometh on apace?
The ticking of the death…watch would replace
The baby's prattle; for the over…wise;
The breeze's murmur would become the cries
Of stormy petrels where the breakers race。
We live as moves the walker in his sleep;
Who walks because he sees not the abyss
His feet are skirting as he goes his way:
If we could see the morrow from the steep
Of our security; the soul would miss
Its footing; and fall headlong from to…day。
VIII
One day; I mind me; now that she is dead;
When nothing warned us of the dark decree;
I crooned; to lull her; in a minor key;
Such fancies as first came into my head。
I crooned them low; beside her little bed;
And the refrain was somehow 〃Come with me;
And we will wander by the purple sea;〃
I crooned it; and … God help me! … felt no dread。
O Purple Sea; beyond the stress of storms;
Where never ripple breaks upon the shore
Of Death's pale Isles of Twilight as they dream;
Give back; give back; O Sea of Nevermore;
The frailest of the unsubstantial forms
That leave the shores that are for those that seem!
XX
What essences from Idumean palm;
What ambergris; what sacerdotal wine;
What Arab myrrh; what spikenard; would be thine;
If I could swathe thy memory in such balm!
Oh; for wrecked gold; from depths for ever calm;
To fashion for thy name a fretted shrine;
Oh; for strange gems; still locked in virgin mine;
To stud the pyx; where thought would bring sweet psalm!
I have but this small rosary of rhyme; …
No rubies but heart's drops; no pearls but tears;
To lay upon the altar of thy name;
O Mimma Bella; … on the shrine that Time
Makes ever holier for the soul; while years
Obliterate the rolls of human fame。
Eugene Lee…Hamilton '1845…1907'
ROSE…MARIE OF THE ANGELS
Little Sister Rose…Marie;
Will thy feet as willing…light
Run through Paradise; I wonder;
As they run the blue skies under;
Willing feet; so airy…light?
Little Sister Rose…Marie;
Will thy voice as bird…note clear
Lift and ripple over Heaven
As its mortal sound is given;
Swift bird…voice; so young and clear?
How God will be glad of thee;
Little Sister Rose…Marie!
Adelaide Crapsey '1878…1914'
MAIDENHOOD
MAIDENHOOD
Maiden! with the meek; brown eyes;
In whose orbs a shadow lies
Like the dusk in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun;
Golden tresses; wreathed in one;
As the braided streamlets run!
Standing; with reluctant feet;
Where the brook and river meet;
Womanhood and childhood fleet!
Gazing; with; a timid glance;
On the brooklet's swift advance;
On the river's broad expanse!
Deep and still; that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem;
As the river of a dream。
Then why pause with indecision;
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by;
As the dove; with startled eye;
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore;
That our ears perceive no more;
Deafened by the cataract's roar?
Oh; thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands; … Life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune;
Morning rises into noon;
May glides onward into June。
Childhood is the bough; where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many…numbered; …
Age; that bough with snows encumbered。
Gather; then; each flower that grows;
When the young heart overflows;
To embalm that tent of snows。
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand。
Bear through sorrow; wrong; and ruth;
In thy heart the dew of youth;
On thy lips the smile of truth。
Oh; that dew; like balm; shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal;
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
And that smile; like sunshine; dart
Into many a sunless heart
For a smile of God thou art。
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow '1807…1882'
TO THE VIRGINS; TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may;
Old Time is still a…flying:
And this same flower that smiles to…day
To…morrow will be dying。
The glorious lamp of heaven; the sun;
The higher he's a…getting;
The sooner will his race be run;
And nearer he's to setting;
That age is best which is the first;
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent; the worse; and worst
Times still succeed the former。
Then be not coy; but use your time;
And while ye may; go marry:
For having lost but once your prime;
You may for ever tarry。
Robert Herrick '1591…1674'
TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY
Merry Margaret
As midsummer flower;
Gentle as falcon;
Or hawk of the tower:
With solace and gladness;
Much mirth and no madness