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And thou, his Florence, to thy trust

Receive and keep,
Keep safe his dedicated dust,

His sacred sleep.


So shall thy lovers, come from far,

Mix with thy name As morning-star with evening-star

His faultless fame.



Are you tir'd ? But I seem shameful to you, shameworthy, Contemnable of good women, being so bad, So bad as I am. Yea, would God, would

God, I had kept my face from this contempt of

yours. Insolent custom would not anger me So as you do; more clean are you than I, Sweeter for gathering of the grace of God To perfume some accomplish'd work in

heaven ? I do not use to scorn, stay pure of hate, Seeing how myself am scorn'd unworthily; But anger here so takes me in the throat I would speak now for fear it strangle me. Here, let me feel your hair and hands and

We are in love's land to-day ;

Where shall we go ?
Love, shall we start or stay,

Or sail or row ?
There's many a wind and way,
And never a May but May ;
We are in love's hand to-day ;

Where shall we go?

face ;

I see not flesh is holier than flesh,







Or blood than blood more choicely quali- FROM “ATALANTA IN CALYfied

That scorn should live between them.
Better am I

Than many women; you are not over

fair, Nor delicate with some exceeding good When the hounds of spring are on winter's In the sweet flesh; you have no much

traces, tenderer soul

The mother of months in meadow or Than love is moulded out of for God's


Fills the shadows and windy places Who wrought our double need ; you are With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; not so choice

And the brown bright nightingale amorous That in the golden kingdom of your eyes Is half assuaged for Itylus, All coins should melt for service. But I For the Thracian ships and the foreign that am

faces, Part of the perfect witness for the world The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. How good it is ; I chosen in God's eyes To fill the lean account of under men, Come with bows bent and with emptying of The lank and hunger-bitten ugliness

quivers, Of half his people ; I who make fair heads Maiden most perfect, lady of light, Bow, saying, Though we be in no wise With a noise of winds and many rivers, fair

With a clamor of waters, and with We have touch'd all beauty with our eyes,

might; we have

Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Some relish in the hand, and in the lips Over the splendor and speed of thy feet; Some breath of it,” because they saw me For the faint east quickens, the wan west once ;

shivers, I whose curl'd hair was as a strong stak'd Round the feet of the day and the feet net

of the night. To take the hunters and the hunt, and bind Faces and feet and hands; a golden gin Where shall we find her, how shall we sing Wherein the tawny-lidded lions fell,

to her, Broken at ankle ; I that am yet, ah yet,

Fold our hands round her knees, and And shall be till the worm hath share in

cling ? me,

O that man's heart were as fire and could Fairer than love or the clean truth of

spring to her, God,

Fire, or the strength of the streams More sweet than sober customs of kind

that spring!

For the stars and the winds are unto her That shackle pain and stablish temper- As raiment, as songs of the harp-player ; ance ;

For the risen stars and the fallen cling to I that have roses in my name, and make

her, All flowers glad to set their color by ;

And the southwest-wind and the westI that have held a land between twin lips

wind sing. And turn'd large England to a little kiss ; God thinks not of me as contemptible ;

For winter's rains and ruins are over, And that you think me even a smaller And all the season of snows and sins ; thing

The days dividing lover and lover, Than your own goodness and slight name The light that loses, the night that of good,

wins ; Your special, thin, particular repute, - And time remember'd is grief forgotten, I would some mean could be but clear to And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,

And in green underwood and cover Not to contemn you.

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.





The full streams feed on flower of rushes,

Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young year

Alushes From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut


And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,

Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, Follows with dancing and fills with delight

The Mænad and the Bassarid; And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight

The god pursuing, the maiden hid. The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair

Over her eyebrows, hiding her eyes ; The wild vine slipping down leaves bare Her bright breast shortening into

sighs; The wild vine slips with the weight of its

leaves, But the berried ivy catches and cleaves To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare The wolf that follows, the fawn that


Scene. — In Prison, before Chastelard's

Queen. Would God my heart were

greater ; but God wot
I have no heart to bear with fear and die.
Yea, and I cannot help you : or I know
I should be nobler, bear a better heart :
But as this stands - I pray you for good

love, As you hold honor a costlier thing than

life Chastelard. Well ? Queen.

Nay, I would not be denied for shame; In brief, I pray you give me that again.

Chast. What, my reprieve ?

Even so; deny me not. For your sake mainly : yea, by God you

know How fain I were to die in your death's

stead, For your name's sake. This were no need

to swear, Lest we be mock'd to death with a re

prieve, And so both die, being sham’d. What,

shall I swear ? What, if I kiss you? must I pluck it out? You do not love me :

no, nor honor. Come, I know you have it about you : give it me. Chast. I cannot yield you such a thing

again; Not as I had it.

Queen. A coward ? what shift now? Do such men make such cravens ? Chast.

Chide me not : Pity me that I cannot help my heart. Queen. Heaven mend mine eyes that took

you for a man! What, is it sewn into your flesh ? take

heed Nay, but for shame what have


done with it? Chast. Why, there it lies, torn up. Queen.

God help me, sir! Have

you done this? Chast. Yea, sweet ; what should I do? Did I not know you to the bone, my sweet ? God speed you well ? you have a goodly




We have seen thee, O Love, thou art fair ;

thou art goodly, O Love ; Thy wings make light in the air as the

wings of a dove. Thy feet are as winds that divide the

stream of the sea; Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the gar

ment of thee. Thou art swift and subtle and blind as a

flame of fire ; Before thee the laughter, behind thee the

tears of desire ; And twain go forth beside thee, a man with

a maid ; Her eyes are the eyes of a bride whom

delight makes afraid ; As the breath in the buds that stir is her

bridal breath : But Fate is the name of her; and his name

is Death.

fair ;

amorous arms


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Queen. My love, sweet love, you are You have the better, being more fair than more fair than he,

they, Yea, fairer many times : I love you much, They are half foul, being rather good than Sir, know you that ? Chast.

I think I know that well. You are quite fair : to be quite fair is Sit here a little till I feel you through

best. In all my breath and blood for some sweet Why, two nights hence I dream'd that I while.

could see O gracious body that mine arms have had, In through your bosom under the left And hair my face has felt on it ! grave eyes

flower, And low thick lids that keep since years And there was a round hollow, and at agone

heart In the blue sweet of each particular vein A little red snake sitting, without spot, Some special print of me! I am right glad That bit --- like this, and suck'd up sweet That I must never feel a bitterer thing

- like this, Than your soft curl'd-up shoulder and And curl'd its lithe light body right and left,

And quiver'd like a woman in act to love. From this time forth ; nothing can hap to Then there was some low flutter'd talk i'

the lips, Less good than this for all my whole life Faint sound of soft fierce words caressing through.

them I would not have some new pain after this Like a fair woman's when her love gets Come spoil the savor. O, your round bird's

way. throat,

Ah, your old kiss — I know the ways of it : More soft than sleep or singing ; your calm Let the lips cling a little. Take them off, cheeks,

And speak some word, or I go mad with Turn'd bright, turn'd wan with kisses hard

love. and hot ;

Queen. Will you not have my chaplain The beautiful color of your deep curv'd come to you? hands,

Chast. Some better thing of yours Made of a red rose that had changed to some handkerchief, white ;

Some fringe of scarf to make confession That mouth mine own holds half the sweet

to ness of,

You had some book about you that fell Yea, my heart holds the sweetness of it,

out whence

Queen. A little written book of RonMy life began in me; mine that ends here sard's rhymes, Because you have no mercy, — nay, you His gift, I wear in there for love of him -know

See, here between our feet.
You never could have mercy.

My fair

Ay, my old lord's love,

The sweet chief poet, my dear friend long Kiss me again, God loves you not the

since ? less;

Give me the book. Lo you, this verse of Why should one woman have all goodly

his : things?

With coming lilies in late April came You have all beauty ; let mean women's Her body, fashion'd whiter for their shame; lips

And roses, touch'd with blood since Adon Be pitiful and speak truth : they will not bled, be

From her fair color filld their lips with red : Such perfect things as yours.

Be not A goodly praise : I could not praise you so. asham'd

I read that while your marriage-feast went That hands not made like these that snare men's souls

Leave me this book, I pray you : I would Should do men good, give alms, relieve

read men's pain ;

The hymn of death here over ere I die ;


I shall know soon how much he knew of

death When that was written. One thing I

know now, I shall not die with half a heart at least, Nor shift my face, nor weep my fault alive, Nor swear if I might live and do new

deeds I would do better. Let me keep the book. Queen. Yea, keep it : as would God

you had kept your life Out of mine eyes and hands. I am wrung

to the heart : This hour feels dry and bitter in my mouth As if its sorrow were my body's food More than my soul's. There are bad

thoughts in me — Most bitter fancies biting me like birds That tear each other. Suppose you need

not die ? Chast. You know I cannot live for two

hours more. Our fate was made thus ere our days were

made : Will you fight fortune for so small a

grief? But for one thing I were full fain of death.

Queen. What thing is that ?

Chast. None need to name the thing. Why, what can death do with me fit to

fear ? For if I sleep I shall not weep awake ; Or if their saying be true of things to

come, Though hell be sharp, in the worst ache

of it I shall be eas'd so God will give me back Sometimes one golden gracious sight of

you The aureole woven flowerlike through your

And in your lips the little laugh as red
As when it came upon a kiss and ceas'd,
Touching my mouth.

As I do now,


way, With my heart after : would I could shed

tears, Tears should not fail when the heart shud

ders so. But your bad thought ?

Chast. Well, such a thought as this : It may be, long time after I am dead, For all you are, you may see bitter days ; God may forget you or be wroth with you : Then shall you lack a little help of me,

And I shall feel your sorrow touching you,
A happy sorrow, though I may not touch :
I that would fain be turn'd to flesh again,
Fain get back life to give up life for you,
To shed my blood for help, that long ago
You shed and were not holpen : and your

heart Will ache for help and comfort, yea, for

love, And find less love than mine for I do

think You never will be lov'd thus in your life. Queen. It may be man will never love

me more ; For I am sure I shall not love man twice. Chast. I know not : men must love you

in life's spite, For you will always kill them ; man by man Your lips will bite them dead ; yea, though

you would, You shall not spare one ; all will die of

you ; I cannot tell what love shall do with these, But I for all my love shall have no might To help you more, mine arms and hands

no power To fasten on you more.

This cleaves my heart, That they shall never touch your body


But for your grief — you will not have to

grieve ; For being in such poor eyes so beautiful It must needs be as God is more than I So much more love he hath of you than

mine ; Yea, God shall not be bitter with my love, Seeing she is so sweet. Queen.

Ah, my sweet fool, Think you when God will ruin me for sin My face of color shall prevail so much With him, so soften the tooth'd iron's edge To save my throat a scar ? Nay, I am sure I shall die somehow sadly. Chast.

This is pure grief ; The shadow of your pity for my death, Mere foolishness of pity : all sweet moods Throw out such little shadows of them

selves, Leave such light fears behind. You, die

like me ? Stretch your throat out that I may kiss all

round Where mine shall be cut through : suppose

my mouth

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