Volume I Part 82 (1/2)
William Wordsworth [1770-1850]
THE SOLITARY-HEARTED
She was a queen of n.o.ble Nature's crowning, A smile of hers was like an act of grace; She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, Like daily beauties of the vulgar race: But if she smiled, a light was on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream Of human thought with unabiding glory; Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, A visitation, bright and transitory.
But she is changed,--hath felt the touch of sorrow, No love hath she, no understanding friend; O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow What the poor n.i.g.g.ard earth has not to lend; But when the stalk is snapped, the rose must bend.
The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely.
She had a brother, and a tender father, And she was loved, but not as others are From whom we ask return of love,--but rather As one might love a dream; a phantom fair Of something exquisitely strange and rare, Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, Yet no one claimed--as oft, in dewy glades, The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades;-- The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness.
'Tis vain to say--her worst of grief is only The common lot, which all the world have known; To her 'tis more, because her heart is lonely, And yet she hath no strength to stand alone,-- Once she had playmates, fancies of her own, And she did love them. They are pa.s.sed away As Fairies vanish at the break of day; And like a spectre of an age departed, Or unsphered Angel wofully astray, She glides along--the solitary-hearted.
Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849]
OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE
Women there are on earth, most sweet and high, Who lose their own, and walk bereft and lonely, Loving that one lost heart until they die, Loving it only.
And so they never see beside them grow Children, whose coming is like breath of flowers; Consoled by subtler loves the angels know Through childless hours.
Good deeds they do: they comfort and they bless In duties others put off till the morrow; Their look is balm, their touch is tenderness To all in sorrow.
Betimes the world smiles at them, as 'twere shame, This maiden guise, long after youth's departed; But in G.o.d's Book they bear another name-- ”The faithful-hearted.”
Faithful in life, and faithful unto death, Such souls, in sooth, illume with l.u.s.tre splendid That glimpsed, glad land wherein, the Vision saith, Earth's wrongs are ended.
Richard Burton [1861-
”SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY”
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]
PRELUDES From ”The Angel in the House”
I UNTHRIFT
Ah, wasteful woman, she that may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing man cannot choose but pay, How has she cheapened paradise; How given for nought her priceless gift, How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine, Which, spent with due, respective thrift, Had made brutes men, and men divine.
II HONOR AND DESERT
O Queen, awake to thy renown, Require what 'tis our wealth to give, And comprehend and wear the crown Of thy despised prerogative!