Introduction to Literature(Sec B)
Handouts Spring, 2007
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)Song
Text:
Image:
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree.
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on as if in pain.
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
Porphyria's Lover
Text:
Image:
THE rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listen'd with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And call'd me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain. / Be sure I look'd up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untighten'd next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propp'd her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorn'd at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gain'd instead!
Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirr'd,
And yet God has not said a word!
Lord Alfred Tennyson.(1809-1892),
The Lady of Shalott
Text & Image:
(1)On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
(2)Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
(3)By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
(4)Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, / Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."
(5)There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
(6)And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
(7)Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
(8)But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
(9)A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
(10)The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
(11)All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
(12)His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot. / (13)She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
(14)In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
(15)And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
(16)Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
(17)Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
(18)Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott. / (19)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." (1842)
The ending of 1833 version:
They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
The wellfed wits at Camelot.
‘The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,--this is I,
The Lady of Shalott.’
John Donne(1572-1631)The Flea
Text and Image:
Right: Woman Catching Fleas. c.1630.
Georges de la Tour.
Musée Historique, Nancy
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
Romeo & Juliet /
The Courting Sonnet
Image: Romeo and Juliet (1968)
ROMEO AND JULIET, Act 1 Scene 5ll. 43-52
ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
[. . . ]
(The Courting sonnet -- their first conversation)
ROMEO[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand (1)
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: (2)
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand (3)
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. (4)
JULIETGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, (5)
Which mannerly devotion shows in this; (6)
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, (7)
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss. (8)
ROMEOHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too? (9)
JULIETAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. (10)
ROMEOO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; (11)
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. (12)
JULIETSaints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake. (13)
ROMEOThen move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. (14)
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
JULIETThen have my lips the sin that they have took.
ROMEOSin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
JULIETYou kiss by the book.
Anonymous
Barbara Allen /
4 versions
Image: deMartelly, John - American (1903-1980) For The Love Of Barbara Allen
Barbara Allen version 1(from Child’s Ballads 84B)
84B: Bonny Barbara Allen
(source:
84B.1IN SCARLET TOWN, where I was bound,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Whom I had chosen to be my own,
And her name it was Barbara Allen.
84B.2All in the merry month of May,
When green leaves they was springing,
This young man on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barbara Allen.
84B.3He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwelling:
‘You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.
84B.4‘For death is printed in his face,
And sorrow’s in him dwelling,
And you must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.’
84B.5your name be Barbara Allen.’
84B.5‘If death be printed in his face,
And sorrow’s in him dwelling,
Then little better shall he be
For bonny Barbara Allen.’
84B.6So slowly, slowly she got up,
And so slowly she came to him,
And all she said when she came there,
Young man, I think you are a dying.
84B.7He turnd his face unto her then:
‘If you be Barbara Allen,
My dear,’ said he, ’Come pitty me,
As on my death-bed I am lying.’
84B.8‘If on your death-bed you be lying,
What is that to Barbara Allen?
I cannot keep you from [your] death;
So farewell,’ said Barbara Allen.
84B.9He turnd his face unto the wall,
And death came creeping to him:
‘Then adieu, adieu, and adieu to all,
And adieu to Barbara Allen!’
84B.10And as she was walking on a day,
She heard the bell a ringing,
And it did seem to ring to her
‘Unworthy Barbara Allen.’
84B.11She turnd herself round about,
And she spy’d the corps a coming:
‘Lay down, lay down the corps of clay,
That I may look upon him.’
84B.12And all the while she looked on,
So loudly she lay laughing,
While all her friends cry’d [out] amain,
So loudly she lay laughing,
While all her friends cry’d [out] amain,
‘Unworthy Barbara Allen!’
84B.13When he was dead, and laid in grave,
Then death came creeping to she:
‘O mother, mother, make my bed,
For his death hath quite undone me.
84B.14‘A hard-hearted creature that I was,
To slight one that lovd me so dearly;
I wish I had been more kinder to him,
The time of his life when he was near me.’
84B.15So this maid she then did dye,
And desired to be buried by him,
And repented her self before she dy’d,
That ever she did deny him.
Barbara Allen version 2
(source: )
Was in the merry month of May
When flowers were a bloomin',
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
2. Slowly, slowly she got up,
And slowly she went nigh him,
And all she said when she got there,
"Young man, I think you're dying."
3. "O yes, I'm sick and very low,
And death is on me dwellin',
No better shall I ever be
If I don't get Barbara Allen."
4. "Don't you remember the other day
When you were in the tavern,
You toasted all the ladies there
And slighted Barbara Allen?"
5. "O yes, I remember the other day
When we were in the Tavern,
I toasted all the ladies there,
Gave my love to Barbara Allen."
6. He turned his pale face to the wall,
And death was on him dwellin'.
"Adieu, Adieu, my kind friends all,
Be kind to Barbara Allen."
7. As she was walkin' through the fields,
She heard the death bells knelling,
And every toll they seemed to say,
"Hard-hearted Barbara Allen."
8. She looked east, she looked west,
She saw his corpse a-comin'.
"Lay down, lay down the corpse," she said,
"And let me gaze upon him."