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7. But these are the days of advance, the works of the men of mind, When who but a fool would have faith in a tradesman's ware or his word? Is it peace or war? Civil war, as I think, and that of a kind The viler, as underhand, not openly bearing the sword.
Sooner or later I too may passively take the print
Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days gone by,
And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian's head,
And Sleep most lie down armd, for the villanous centre-bits
When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee,
For I trust if an enemy's fleet came yonder round by the hill,
What! am I raging alone as my father raged in his mood ?
Would there be sorrow for me! there was love in the passionate shriek,
I am sick of the Hall and the hill, I am sick of the moor and the main.
There are workmen up at the Hall: they are coming back from abroad;
Maud with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes,
What is she now! My dreams are bad. She may bring me a curse.
II. Long have I sigh'd for a calm: God grant I may find it at last ! It will never be broken by Maud, she has neither savor nor salt, But a cold and clear-cut face, as I found when her carriage past, Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where is the fault? All that I saw (for her eyes were downcast, not to be seen) Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, Dead perfection, no more; nothing more, if it had not been For a chance of travel, a paleness, an hour's defect of the rose, Or an underlip, you may call it a little too ripe, too full, Or the least little delicate aquiline curve in a sensitive nose, From which I escaped heart-free, with the least little touch of spleen.
III. Cold and clear-cut face, why come you so cruelly meek, Breaking a slumber in which all spleenfal folly was drown'd, Pale with the golden beam of an eyelash dead on the cheek, Passionless, pale, cold face, star-sweet on a gloom profound; Womanlike, taking revenge too deep for a transient wrong Done but in thought to your beauty, and ever as pale as before Growing and fading and growing upon me without a sound, Luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, deathlike, half the night long Growing and fading and growing, till I could bear it no more, Bat arose, and all by myself in my own dark garden ground, Listening now to the tide in its broad-flung shipwrecking roar, Now to the scream of a madden'd beach dragg'd down by the wave, Walk'd in a wintry wind by a ghastly glimmer, and found The shining daffodil dead, and Orion low in his grave.
A MILLION emeralds break from the ruby-budded lime
Below me, there, is the village, and looks how quiet and small !
3. When have I bow'd to her father, the wrinkled head of the race ? I met her to-day with her brother, but not to her brother I bow'd ; I bow'd to his lady-sister as she rode by on the moor; But the fire of a foolish pride flash'd over her beautiful face. O child, you wrong your beauty, believe it, in being so proud; Your father has wealth well-gotten, and I am nameless and poor.
4. I keep but a man and a maid, ever ready to slander and steal; I know it, and smile a hard-set smile, like a stoic, or like A wiser epicurean, and let the world have its way: For nature is one with rapine, a harm no preacher can heal ; The Mayfly is torn by the swallow, the sparrow spear'd by the shrike And the whole little wood where I sit is a world of plunder and prey.
5. We are puppets, Man in his pride, and Beanty fair in her flower ; Do we move ourselves, or are moved by an unseen hand at a game That pushes us off from the board, and others ever succeed ? Ah yet, we cannot be kind to each other here for an hour; We whisper, and hint, and chuckle, and grin at a brother's shame; However we brave 't out, we men are a little breed.
2. Men were drinking together,
Drinking and talking of me; “Well, if it prove a girl, the boy
Will have plenty: so let it be."
3. Is it an echo of something
Read with a boy's delight, Viziers nodding together
In some Arabian night?
6. What if tho' her eye seem'd full of a kind intent to me, What if that dandy-despot, he, That jewell'd mass of millinery, That oil'd and curld Assyrian Bull Smelling of musk and of insolence, Her brother, from whom I keep aloof, Who wants the fiver politic sense To mask, tho’ but in his own behoof, With a glassy smile his brutal scorn,What if he had told her yestermorn How prettily for his own sweet sake A face of tenderness might be feign'd, And a moist mirage in desert eyes, That so, when the rotten hustings shake In another month to his brazen lies, A wretched vote may be gain'd.
Strange, that I hear two men,
Somewhere, talking of me; "Well, if it prove a girl, my boy
Will have plenty: so let it ba."
7. For a raven ever croaks, at my side, Keep watch and ward, keep watch and ward, Or thou wilt prove their tool. Yea too, myself from myself I guard, For often a man's own angry pride Is cap and bells for a fool.
She came to the village church,
Perhaps the smile and tender tone
IX. I was walking a mile, More than a mile from the shore, The sun look'd out with a smile Betwixt the cloud and the moor, And riding at set of day Over the dark moor land, Rapidly riding far away, She waved to me with her hand. There were two at her side, Something flash'd in the sun, Down by the hill I saw them ride, In a moment they were gone : Like a sudden spark Struck vainly in the night, And back returns the dark With no more hope of light.
O heart of stone, are you flesh, and caught
10. I have play'd with her when a child; She remembers it now we meet. Ab well, well, well, I may be beguiled By some coquettish deceit. l'et, if she were not a cheat,
1. Siok, am I sick of a jealous dread ! Was not one of the two at her side This new-made lord, whose splendor pincks The slavish hat from the villager's head ? Whose old grandfather has lately died, Gone to a blacker pii, for whom Grimy nakedness dragging his trucks And laying his trams in a poison'd gloom Wrought, till he crept from a gutted mina Master of half a servile shire,