The Pre-Raphaelites

1
The Pre-Raphaelites
2
Her arms across her breast she laid    She was
more fair than words can sayBarefooted came the
beggar maid    Before the king Cophetua.In robe
and crown the king stept down,    To meet and
greet her on her wayIt is no wonder, said the
lords,    She is more beautiful than day. As
shines the moon in clouded skies,    She in her
poor attire was seenOne praised her ankles, one
her eyes,    One her dark hair and lovesome
mien.So sweet a face, such angel grace,    In
all that land had never beenCophetua sware a
royal oath    This beggar maid shall be my
queen! (Tennyson, The Beggar Maid)
3
Who is this? And what is here? And in the
lighted palace near Died the sound of royal
cheer And they crossed themselves for fear,
    All the Knights at Camelot But Lancelot
mused a little space He said, She has a lovely
face God in his mercy lend her grace,     The
Lady of Shalott.
4
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. 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. (D. G. Rossetti,
The Blessed Damozel)
5
(William Holman Hunt)
6
At length their long kiss severed, with sweet
smart And as the last slow sudden drops are
shed From sparkling eaves when all the storm
has fled, So singly flagged the pulses of each
heart. Their bosoms sundered, with the opening
start Of married flowers to either side
outspread From the knit stem yet still their
mouths, burnt red, Fawned on each other where
they lay apart. Sleep sank them lower than the
tide of dreams, And their dreams watched them
sink, and slid away. Slowly their souls swam up
again, through gleams Of watered light and
dull drowned waifs of day Till from some wonder
of new woods and streams He woke, and
wondered more for there she lay. (D. G.
Rossetti, Nuptial Sleep from The House of Life)
7
A Sonnet is a moments monument, Memorial
from the Souls eternity To one dead
deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for
lustral rite or dire portent, Of its own arduous
fulness reverent Carve it in ivory or in
ebony, As Day or Night may rule and let Time
see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A
Sonnet is a coin its face reveals The
soul,its converse, to what Power tis
due Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Loves high retinue, It
serve, or, mid the dark wharfs cavernous
breath, In Charons palm it pay the toll to
Death. (D. G. Rossetti, A Sonnet from The
House of Life)
8
Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The
witch he loved before the gift of Eve,) That,
ere the snakes, her sweet tongue could
deceive,And her enchanted hair was the first
gold. And still she sits, young while the earth
is old, And, subtly of herself
contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright
web she can weave,Till heart and body and life
are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her
flower for where Is he not found, O Lilith,
whom shed scentAnd soft-shed kisses and soft
sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youths eyes
burned at thine, so went Thy spell through
him, and left his straight neck bentAnd round
his heart one strangling golden hair. (Dante
Gabriel Rossetti, Lilith, renamed Bodys
Beauty)
9
(No Transcript)
10
Under the arch of Life, where love and death,
Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw
Beauty enthroned and though her gaze struck
awe, I drew it in as simply as my breath. Hers
are the eyes which, over and beneath, The sky
and sea bend on thee,which can draw, By sea
or sky or woman, to one law, The allotted bondman
of her palm and wreath. This is that Lady
Beauty, in whose praise Thy voice and hand
shake still,long known to thee By flying
hair and fluttering hem,the beat
Following her daily of thy heart and feet,
How passionately and irretrievably, In what fond
flight, how many ways and days! (D. G. Rossetti,
Souls Beauty
11
(No Transcript)
12
She sat and sang always By the green margin of a
stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath
the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept always Beneath
the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the
blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the
stream. I wept for memory She sang for hope
that is so fair My tears were swallowed by the
sea Her songs died on the air. (Christina
Rossetti, Song)
13
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far
away into the silent land        When you can no
more hold me by the hand,  Nor I half turn to go
yet turning stay.  Remember me when no more day
by day        You tell me of our future that you
plannd        Only remember me you
understand  It will be late to counsel then or
pray.  Yet if you should forget me for a
while        And afterwards remember, do not
grieve        For if the darkness and corruption
leave        A vestige of the thoughts that once
I had,  Better by far you should forget and
smile        Than that you should remember and be
sad. (Christina Rossetti, Remember)
14
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made
moan,Earth stood hard as iron, water like a
stoneSnow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on
snow,In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God,
Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustainHeaven
and earth shall flee away when He comes to
reign.In the bleak midwinter a stable place
sufficedThe Lord God Almighty, Jesus
Christ. Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship
night and day,Breastful of milk, and a mangerful
of hayEnough for Him, whom angels fall
before,The ox and ass and camel which
adore. Angels and archangels may have gathered
there,Cherubim and seraphim thronged the
airBut His mother only, in her maiden
bliss,Worshipped the beloved with a kiss. What
can I give Him, poor as I am?If I were a
shepherd, I would bring a lambIf I were a Wise
Man, I would do my partYet what I can I give
Him give my heart. (Christina Rossetti, In the
Bleak Midwinter)
15
Gerard Manley Hopkins
Remember that it is made for performance,
and that its performance is not reading with the
eye but loud, leisurely, poetical (not
rhetorical) recitation, with long rests, long
dwells on the rhyme and other marked syllables,
and so on.
16
HeavenHaven A nun takes the veil       I
have desired to go       Where springs not
fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided
hail     And a few lilies blow.       And I
have asked to be       Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
    And out of the swing of the sea.
17
Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies! O
look at all the fire-folk sitting in the
air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels
there! Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the
elves-eyes! The grey lawns cold where gold,
where quickgold lies! Wind-beat whitebeam! airy
abeles set on a flare! Flake-doves sent floating
forth at a farmyard scare! Ah well! it is all
purchase, all is a prize. Buy then! bid
then!What?Prayer, patience, alms, vows. Look,
look a May-mess, like on orchard boughs! Look!
March-bloom, like on mealed-with-yellow
sallows! These are indeed the barn withindoors
house The shocks. This piece-bright paling shuts
the spouse Christ home, Christ and his mother
and all his hallows. (The Starlight Night)
18
Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, ' vaulty,
voluminous, stupendous Evening strains to be
times vást, ' womb-of all, home-of-all,
hearse-of-all night. Her fond yellow hornlight
wound to the west, ' her wild hollow hoarlight
hung to the height Waste her earliest stars,
earl-stars, ' stárs principal, overbend
us, Fíre-féaturing heaven. For earth ' her being
has unbound, her dapple is at an end, as- tray or
aswarm, all throughther, in throngs ' self ín
self steepèd and páshedquíte Disremembering,
dísmémbering ' áll now. Heart, you round me
right With Óur évening is over us óur night '
whélms, whélms, ánd will end us. Only the
beak-leaved boughs dragonish ' damask the
tool-smooth bleak light black, Ever so black on
it. Óur tale, O óur oracle! ' lét life, wáned, ah
lét life wind Off hér once skéined stained véined
varíety ' upon, áll on twó spools párt, pen,
páck Now her áll in twó flocks, twó foldsblack,
white ' right, wrong reckon but, reck but,
mind But thése two wáre of a wórld where bút
these ' twó tell, each off the óther of a
rack Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe- and
shelterless, ' thóughts agaínst thoughts ín
groans grínd. (Spelt from Sybils Leaves)