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قراءة كتاب The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 4
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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 4
XIX.
To us, us also, open straight!
The outer life is chilly;
Are we too, like the earth, to wait
Till next year for our Lily?
XX.
—Oh, my own baby on my knees,
My leaping, dimpled treasure,
At every word I write like these,
Clasped close with stronger pressure!
XXI.
Too well my own heart understands,—
At every word beats fuller—
My little feet, my little hands,
And hair of Lily’s colour!
XXII.
But God gives patience, Love learns strength,
And Faith remembers promise,
And Hope itself can smile at length
On other hopes gone from us.
Love, strong as Death, shall conquer Death,
Through struggle made more glorious:
This mother stills her sobbing breath,
Renouncing yet victorious.
XXIV.
Arms, empty of her child, she lifts
With spirit unbereaven,—
“God will not all take back His gifts;
My Lily’s mine in heaven.
XXV.
“Still mine! maternal rights serene
Not given to another!
The crystal bars shine faint between
The souls of child and mother.
XXVI.
“Meanwhile,” the mother cries, “content!
Our love was well divided:
Its sweetness following where she went,
Its anguish stayed where I did.
“Well done of God, to halve the lot,
And give her all the sweetness;
To us, the empty room and cot,—
To her, the Heaven’s completeness.
XXVIII.
“To us, this grave,—to her, the rows
The mystic palm-trees spring in;
To us, the silence in the house,—
To her, the choral singing.
XXIX.
“For her, to gladden in God’s view,—
For us, to hope and bear on.
Grow, Lily, in thy garden new,
Beside the Rose of Sharon!
XXX.
“Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily clipped,
In love more calm than this is,
And may the angels dewy-lipped
Remind thee of our kisses!
“While none shall tell thee of our tears,
These human tears now falling,
Till, after a few patient years,
One home shall take us all in.
XXXII.
“Child, father, mother—who, left out?
Not mother, and not father!
And when, our dying couch about,
The natural mists shall gather,
XXXIII.
“Some smiling angel close shall stand
In old Correggio’s fashion,
And bear a Lily in his hand,
For death’s ANNUNCIATION.”
CATARINA TO CAMOENS
(DYING IN HIS ABSENCE ABROAD, AND REFERRING TO THE POEM IN WHICH HE RECORDED THE SWEETNESS OF HER EYES).
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I. On the door you will not enter, I have gazed too long: adieu! Hope withdraws her peradventure; Death is near me,—and not you. Come, O lover, Close and cover These poor eyes, you called, I ween, “Sweetest eyes were ever seen!” II. When I heard you sing that burden In my vernal days and bowers, Other praises disregarding, I but hearkened that of yours— Only saying In heart-playing, “Blessed eyes mine eyes have been, If the sweetest HIS have seen!” III. But all changes. At this vesper, Cold the sun shines down the door. If you stood there, would you whisper “Love, I love you,” as before,— Death pervading Now, and shading Eyes you sang of, that yestreen, As the sweetest ever seen? IV. Yes. I think, were you beside them, Near the bed I die upon, Though their beauty you denied them, As you stood there, looking down, You would truly Call them duly, For the love’s sake found therein, “Sweetest eyes were ever seen.” And if you looked down upon them, And if they looked up to you, All the light which has foregone them Would be gathered back anew: They would truly Be as duly Love-transformed to beauty’s sheen, “Sweetest eyes were ever seen.” VI. But, ah me! you only see me, In your thoughts of loving man, Smiling soft perhaps and dreamy Through the wavings of my fan; And unweeting Go repeating, In your reverie serene, “Sweetest eyes were ever seen——” VII. |