Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882)

Love’s Nocturn

MASTER of the murmuring courts

Where the shapes of sleep convene!—

Lo! my spirit here exhorts

All the powers of thy demesne

For their aid to woo my queen.

What reports

Yield thy jealous courts unseen?

Vaporous unaccountable,

Dreamland lies forlorn of light,

Hollow like a breathing shell.

Ah! that from all dreams I might

Choose one dream and guide its flight!

I know well

What her sleep should tell to-night.

There the dreams are multitudes:

Some whose buoyance waits not sleep,

Deep within the August woods;

Some that hum while rest may steep

Weary labour laid a-heap;

Interludes,

Some, of grievous moods that weep.

Poets’ fancies all are there:

There the elf-girls flood with wings

Valleys full of plaintive air;

There breathe perfumes; there in rings

Whirl the foam-bewildered springs;

Siren there

Winds her dizzy hair and sings.

Thence the one dream mutually

Dreamed in bridal unison,

Less than waking ecstasy;

Half-formed visions that make moan

In the house of birth alone;

And what we

At death’s wicket see, unknown.

But for mine own sleep, it lies

In one gracious form’s control,

Fair with honourable eyes,

Lamps of an auspicious soul:

O their glance is loftiest dole,

Sweet and wise,

Wherein Love descries his goal.

Reft of her, my dreams are all

Clammy trance that fears the sky:

Changing footpaths shift and fall;

From polluted coverts nigh,

Miserable phantoms sigh;

Quakes the pall,

And the funeral goes by.

Master, is it soothly said

That, as echoes of man’s speech

Far in secret clefts are made,

So do all men’s bodies reach

Shadows o’er thy sunken beach,—

Shape or shade

In those halls pourtrayed of each?

Ah! might I, by thy good grace

Groping in the windy stair,

(Darkness and the breath of space

Like loud waters everywhere,)

Meeting mine own image there

Face to face,

Send it from that place to her!

Nay, not I; but oh! do thou,

Master, from thy shadowkind

Call my body’s phantom now:

Bid it bear its face declin’d

Till its flight her slumbers find,

And her brow

Feel its presence bow like wind.

Where in groves the gracile Spring

Trembles, with mute orison

Confidently strengthening,

Water’s voice and wind’s as one

Shed an echo in the sun.

Soft as Spring

Master, bid it sing and moan.

Song shall tell how glad and strong

Is the night she soothes alway;

Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue

Of the brazen hours of day:

Sounds as of the springtide they,

Moan and song,

While the chill months long for May.

Not the prayers which with all leave

The world’s fluent woes prefer,—

Not the praise the world doth give,

Dulcet fulsome whisperer;—

Let it yield my love to her,

And achieve

Strength that shall not grieve or err.

Wheresoe’er my dreams befall,

Both at night-watch (let it say,)

And where round the sundial

The reluctant hours of day,

Heartless, hopeless of their way,

Rest and call;—

There her glance doth fall and stay.

Suddenly her face is there:

So do mounting vapours wreathe

Subtle-scented transports where

The black firwood sets its teeth.

Part the boughs and look beneath,—

Lilies share

Secret waters there, and breathe.

Master, bid my shadow bend

Whispering thus till birth of light,

Lest new shapes that sleep may send

Scatter all its work to flight;—

Master, master of the night,

Bid it spend

Speech, song, prayer, and end aright.

Yet, ah me! if at her head

There another phantom lean

Murmuring o’er the fragrant bed,—

Ah! and if my spirit’s queen

Smile those alien words between,—

Ah! poor shade!

Shall it strive, or fade unseen?

How should love’s own messenger

Strive with love and be love’s foe?

Master, nay! If thus, in her,

Sleep a wedded heart should show,—

Silent let mine image go,

Its old share

Of thy sunken air to know.

Like a vapour wan and mute,

Like a flame, so let it pass;

One low sigh across her lute,

One dull breath against her glass;

And to my sad soul, alas!

One salute

Cold as when death’s foot shall pass.

Then, too, let all hopes of mine,

All vain hopes by night and day,

Slowly at thy summoning sign

Rise up pallid and obey.

Dreams, if this is thus, were they:—

Be they thine,

And to dreamland pine away.

Yet from old time, life, not death,

Master, in thy rule is rife:

Lo! through thee, with mingling breath,

Adam woke beside his wife.

O Love bring me so, for strife,

Force and faith,

Bring me so not death but life!

Yea, to Love himself is pour’d

This frail song of hope and fear.

Thou art Love, of one accord

With kind Sleep to bring her near,

Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah how dear!

Master, Lord,

In her name implor’d, O hear!