MARIANA. "Mariana in the moated grange." WITH Measure for Measure. blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: Unlifted was the clinking latch; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, “My life is dreary, Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light : From the dark fen the oxen's low * Came to her without hope of change, She only said, "The day is dreary, He cometh not," she said; About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark : She only said, "My life is dreary, And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak'd; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, Or from the crevice peer'd about. Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, She only said, "My life is dreary, The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The poplar made, did all confound ΤΟ I. 'LEAR-HEADED friend, whose joyful scorn, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn Roof not a glance so keen as thine : 2. Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit; A gentler death shall Falsehood die, 3. Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need, Thy kingly intellect shall feed, Until she be an athlete bold, And weary with a finger's touch Those writhed limbs of lightning speed; Like that strange angel which of old, Until the breaking of the light, Wrestled with wandering Israel, Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, MADELINE. I. HOU art not steep'd in golden languors, THOU No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever varying Madeline. Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. 2. Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore. Revealings deep and clear are thine Whether smile or frown be sweeter, Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another, Each to each is dearest brother; Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other. |