But, if buried seeds upthrow What the seeds are, whence they shoot, Dionysia, o'er this tomb, Where thy buried beauties be, Coventry Patmore FROM "THE ANGEL IN THE | My chance, he hop'd, was good: I'd won HOUSE" THE DEAN'S CONSENT THE Ladies rose. I held the door, To hurt the hope that she'd be mine. Towards my mark the Dean's talk set: He praised my "Notes on Abury," Read when the Association met At Sarum; he was pleas'd to see I had not stopp'd, as some men had, At Wrangler and Prize Poet; last, He hop'd the business was not bad I came about: then the wine pass'd. Only three thousand pounds as yet; More by and by. Yes, his good will Should go with me; he would not stir; He and my father in old time still Our chosen pathway, when it lies Or aiter others' destinies, That, though his blessing and his pray'r Had help'd, should help, my suit, yet he Left all to me, his passive share Consent and opportunity. Some name already; friends and place Appear'd within my reach, but none Her mind and manners would not grace. Girls love to see the men in whom They invest their vanities admir'd ; Mine was a choice I could not rue. He ceas'd, and gave his hand. He had won (And all my heart was in my word) From me the affection of a son, Whichever fortune Heaven conferr'd! Well, well, would I take more wine? Then go To her; she makes tea on the lawn These fine warm afternoons. And so We went whither my soul was drawn ; And her light-hearted ignorance Of interest in our discourse Fill'd me with love, and seem'd to enhance Her beauty with pathetic force, As, through the flowery mazes sweet, Fronting the wind that flutter'd blithe, And lov'd her shape, and kiss'd her feet, Shown to their insteps proud and lithe, She approach'd, all mildness and young trust, And ever her chaste and noble air Gave to love's feast its choicest gust, A vague, faint augury of despair. HONORIA'S SURRENDER From little signs, like little stars, Whose faint impression on the sense The very looking straight at mars, Or only seen by confluence; From instinct of a mutual thought, Whence sanctity of manners flow'd; From chance unconscious, and from what I found, and felt with strange alarm, I grew assur'd, before I ask'd, That she'd be mine without reserve, The hope, and make it trebly dear; Till once, through lanes returning late, We paus'd with one presentient mind; Love's timid opportunity. Twice rose, twice died my trembling word; The faint and frail Cathedral chimes Spake time in music, and we heard The chafers rustling in the limes. Her dress, that touch'd me where I stood, The warmth of her confided arm, Her bosom's gentle neighborhood, Her pleasure in her power to charm ; Her look, her love, her form, her touch, The least seem'd most by blissful turn, Blissful but that it pleas'd too much, And taught the wayward soul to yearn. It was as if a harp with wires Was travers'd by the breath I drew; And, oh, sweet meeting of desires, She, answering, own'd that she lov'd too. Honoria was to be my bride! The hopeless heights of hope were scal'd; The summit won, I paus'd and sigh'd, As if success itself had fail'd. It seem'd as if my lips approach'd To touch at Tantalus' reward, And rashly on Eden life encroach'd, Half-blinded by the flaming sword. The whole world's wealthiest and its best, So fiercely sought, appear'd, when found, Poor in its need to be possess'd, Poor from its very want of bound. My queen was crouching at my side, All melted into tears like snow; THE MARRIED LOVER Why, having won her, do I woo? But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; That, as on court-days subjects kiss The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch Affirms no mean familiarness, Nay, rather marks more fair the height Which can with safety so neglect To dread, as lower ladies might, That grace could meet with disrespect, Thus she with happy favor feeds Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds Of difference bridged, or state put by ; Because, although in act and word As lowly as a wife can be, Her manners, when they call me lord, Remind me 't is by courtesy ; Not with her least consent of will, Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still Imputes an unattain❜d desert; Because her gay and lofty brows, When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to Heaven; because, in short, She's not and never can be mine. Feasts satiate; stars distress with height; Friendship means well, but misses reach And wearies in its best delight Vex'd with the vanities of speech; Too long regarded, roses even Afflict the mind with fond unrest; And to converse direct with Heaven Is oft a labor in the breast; Whate'er the up-looking soul admires, In her to whom I'm bound for aye Yesterday than the day before, And more to-day than yesterday. THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS "AND even our women," lastly grumbles Ben, "Leaving their nature, dress and talk like men!" A damsel, as our train stops at Five Ashes, Down to the station in a dog-cart dashes. A footman buys her ticket, "Third class, parly; And, in huge-button'd coat and "Champagne Charley" And such scant manhood else as use allows her, Her two shy knees bound in a single trouser, With, 'twixt her shapely lips, a violet Perch'd as a proxy for a cigarette, She takes her window in our smoking carriage, And scans us, calmly scorning men and marriage. Ben frowns in silence; older, I know better Than to read ladies 'havior in the letter. This aping man is crafty Love's devising To make the woman's difference more sur |