Dante Gabriel Rossetti



                   The Blessed Damozel


                   The blessed damozel lean'd out
                      From the gold bar of Heaven;
                   Her eyes were deeper than the depth
                      Of waters still'd at even;
                   She had three lilies in her hand,
                      And the stars in her hair were seven.

                   Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
                      No wrought flowers did adorn,
                   But a white rose of Mary's gift,
                      For service meetly worn;
                   Her hair that lay along her back
                      Was yellow like ripe corn.

                   Her seem'd she scarce had been a day
                      One of God's choristers;
                   The wonder was not yet quite gone
                      From that still look of hers;
                   Albeit, to them she left, her day
                      Had counted as ten years.

                   (To one, it is ten years of years.
                      ...Yet now, and in this place,
                   Surely she lean'd o'er me — her hair
                      Fell all about my face ....
                   Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves.
                      The whole year sets apace.)

                   It was the rampart of God's house
                      That she was standing on;
                   By God built over the sheer depth
                      The which is Space begun;
                   So high, that looking downward thence
                      She scarce could see the sun.

                   It lies in Heaven, across the flood
                      Of ether, as a bridge.
                   Beneath, the tides of day and night
                      With flame and darkness ridge
                   The void, as low as where this earth
                      Spins like a fretful midge.
                   
                   Around her, lovers, newly met
                      'Mid deathless love's acclaims,
                   Spoke evermore among themselves
                      Their heart-remember'd names;
                   And the souls mounting up to God
                      Went by her like thin flames.

                   And still she bow'd herself and stoop'd
                      Out of the circling charm;
                   Until her bosom must have made
                      The bar she lean'd on warm,
                   And the lilies lay as if asleep
                      Along her bended arm.

                   From the fix'd place of Heaven she saw
                      Time like a pulse shake fierce
                   Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove
                      Within the gulf to pierce
                   Its path; and now she spoke as when
                      The stars sang in their spheres.

                   The sun was gone now; the curl'd moon
                      Was like a little feather
                   Fluttering far down the gulf; and now
                      She spoke through the still weather.
                   Her voice was like the voice the stars
                      Had when they sang together.

                   (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,
                      Strove not her accents there,
                   Fain to be hearken'd? When those bells
                      Possess'd the mid-day air,
                   Strove not her steps to reach my side
                      Down all the echoing stair?)

                   "I wish that he were come to me,
                      For he will come," she said.
                   "Have I not pray'd in Heaven? — on earth,
                      Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd?
                   Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
                      And shall I feel afraid?

                   "When round his head the aureole clings,
                      And he is cloth'd in white,
                   I'll take his hand and go with him
                      To the deep wells of light;
                   As unto a stream we will step down,
                      And bathe there in God's sight.

                   "We two will stand beside that shrine,
                      Occult, withheld, untrod,
                   Whose lamps are stirr'd continually
                      With prayer sent up to God;
                   And see our old prayers, granted, melt
                      Each like a little cloud.

                   "We two will lie i' the shadow of
                      That living mystic tree
                   Within whose secret growth the Dove
                      Is sometimes felt to be,
                   While every leaf that His plumes touch
                      Saith His Name audibly.

                   "And I myself will teach to him,
                      I myself, lying so,
                   The songs I sing here; which his voice
                      Shall pause in, hush'd and slow,
                   And find some knowledge at each pause,
                      Or some new thing to know."

                   (Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!
                      Yea, one wast thou with me
                   That once of old. But shall God lift
                      To endless unity
                   The soul whose likeness with thy soul
                      Was but its love for thee?)

                   "We two," she said, "will seek the groves
                      Where the lady Mary is,
                   With her five handmaidens, whose names
                      Are five sweet symphonies,
                   Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
                      Margaret and Rosalys.

                   "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks
                      And foreheads garlanded;
                   Into the fine cloth white like flame
                      Weaving the golden thread,
                   To fashion the birth-robes for them
                      Who are just born, being dead.

                   "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb:
                      Then will I lay my cheek
                   To his, and tell about our love,
                      Not once abash'd or weak:
                   And the dear Mother will approve
                      My pride, and let me speak.

                   "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
                      To Him round whom all souls
                   Kneel, the clear-rang'd unnumber'd heads
                      Bow'd with their aureoles:
                   And angels meeting us shall sing
                      To their citherns and citoles.

                   "There will I ask of Christ the Lord
                      Thus much for him and me: —
                   Only to live as once on earth
                      With Love, — only to be,
                   As then awhile, for ever now
                      Together, I and he."

                   She gaz'd and listen'd and then said,
                      Less sad of speech than mild, —
                   "All this is when he comes." She ceas'd.
                      The light thrill'd towards her, fill'd
                   With angels in strong level flight.
                      Her eyes pray'd, and she smil'd.

                   (I saw her smile.) But soon their path
                      Was vague in distant spheres:
                   And then she cast her arms along
                      The golden barriers,
                   And laid her face between her hands,
                      And wept. (I heard her tears.)


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