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by
Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837 - 1909) |
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There is no
woman living who draws breath
So sad as
I, though all things sadden her.
There is
not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary
as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom
I look as looks the sunflower
All day
with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in
the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all
night on my sleepless maiden bed.
Weep and
call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou
or he would take me to the dead.
And know
not what thing evil I have done
That life
should lay such heavy hand on me.
Alas! Love,
what is this thou wouldst with me?
What honor
shalt thou have to quench my breath,
Or what
shall my heart broken profit thee?
O Love,
O great god Love, what have I done,
That thou
shouldst hunger so after my death?
My heart
is harmless as my life's first day:
Seek out
some false fair woman, and plague her
Till her
tears even as my tears fill her bed:
I am the
least flower in thy flowery way,
But till
my time be come that I be dead,
Let me live
out my flower-time in the sun,
Though my
leaves shut before the sunflower.
O Love,
Love, Love, the kingly sunflower!
Shall he
the sun hath looked on look on me,
That live
down here in shade, out of the sun,
Here living
in the sorrow and shadow of death?
Shall he
that feeds his heart full of the day
Care to
give mine eyes light, or my lips breath?
Because
she loves him, shall my lord love her
Who is as
a worm in my lord's kingly way?
I shall
not see him or know him alive or dead;
But thou,
I know thee, O Love, and pray to thee
That in
brief while my brief life-days be done,
And the
worm quickly make my marriage-bed.
For underground
there is no sleepless bed.
But here
since I beheld my sunflower
These eyes
have slept not, seeing all night and day
His sunlike
eyes, and face fronting the sun.
Wherefore,
if anywhere be any death,
I fain would
find and fold him fast to me,
That I may
sleep with the world's eldest dead,
With her
that died seven centuries since, and her
That went
last night down the night-wandering way.
For this
is sleep indeed, when labor is done,
Without
love, without dreams, and without breath,
And without
thought, O name unnamed! of thee.
Ah! but,
forgetting all things, shall I thee?
Wilt thou
not be as now about my bed
There underground
as here before the sun?
Shall not
thy vision vex me alive and dead,
Thy moving
vision without form or breath?
I read long
since the bitter tale of her
Who read
the tale of Launcelot on a day,
And died,
and had no quiet after death,
But was
moved ever along a weary way,
Lost with
her love in the underworld; ah me,
O my king,
O my lordly sunflower,
Would God
to me, too, such a thing were done!
But if such
sweet and bitter things be done,
Then, flying
from life, I shall not fly from thee.
For in that
living world without a sun
Thy vision
will lay hold upon me dead,
And meet
and mock me, and mar my peace in death.
Yet if being
wroth, God had such pity on her,
Who was
a sinner and foolish in her day,
That even
in hell they twain should breathe one breath,
Why should
he not in some wise pity me?
So if I
sleep not in my soft strait bed,
I may look
up and see my sunflower
As he the
sun, in some divine strange way.
O poor my
heart, well knowest thou in what way
This sore
sweet evil unto us was done.
For on a
holy and a heavy day
I was arisen
out of my still small bed
To see the
knights tilt, and one said to me
"The king;"
and seeing him, somewhat stopped my breath;
And if the
girl spake more, I heard her not,
For only
I saw what I shall see when dead,
A kingly
flower of knights, a sunflower,
That shone
against the sunlight like the sun,
And like
a fire, O heart, consuming thee,
The fire
of love that lights the pyre of death.
Howbeit
I shall not die an evil death
Who have
loved in such a sad and sinless way,
That this
my love, lord, was no shame to thee.
So when
mine eyes are shut against the sun,
O my soul's
sun, O the world's sunflower,
Thou nor
no man will quite despise me dead.
And dying
I pray with all my low last breath
That thy
whole life may be as was that day,
That feast-day
that made trothplight death and me,
Giving the
world light of thy great deeds done;
And that
fair face brightening thy bridal bed,
That God
be good as God hath been to her.
That all
things goodly and glad remain with her,
All things
that make glad life and goodly death;
That as
a bee sucks from a sunflower
Honey, when
summer draws delighted breath,
Her soul
may drink of thy soul in like way,
And love
make life a fruitful marriage-bed
Where day
may bring forth fruits of joy to day
And night
to night till days and nights be dead.
And as she
gives light of her love to thee,
Give thou
to her the old glory of days long done;
And either
give some heat of light to me,
To warm
me where I sleep without the sun.
O sunflower
make drunken with the sun,
O knight
whose lady's heart draws thine to her,
Great king,
glad lover, I have a word to thee.
There is
a weed lives out of the sun's way,
Hid from
the heat deep in the meadow's bed,
That swoons
and whitens at the wind's least breath,
A flower
star-shaped, that all a summer day
Will gaze
her soul out on the sunflower
For very
love till twilight finds her dead.
But the
great sunflower heeds not her poor death,
Knows not
when all her loving life is done;
And so much
knows my lord the king of me.
Ay, all
day long he has no eye for me;
With golden
eye following the golden sun
From rose-colored
to purple-pillowed bed,
From birthplace
to the flame-lit place of death,
From eastern
end to western of his way,
So mine
eye follows thee, my sunflower,
So the white
star-flower turns and yearns to thee,
The sick
weak weed, not well alive or dead,
Trod under
foot if any pass by her,
Pale, without
color of summer or summer breath
In the shrunk
shuddering petals, that have done
No work
but love, and die before the day.
But thou,
to-day, to-morrow, and every day,
Be glad
and great, O love whose love slays me.
Thy fervent
flower made fruitful from the sun
Shall drop
its golden seed in the world's way,
That all
men thereof nourished shall praise thee
For grain
and flower and fruit of works well done;
Till thy
shed seed, O shining sunflower,
Bring forth
such growth of the world's garden-bed
As like
the sun shall outlive age and death.
And yet
I would thine heart had heed of her
Who loves
thee alive; but not till she be dead.
Come, Love,
then, quickly, and take her utmost breath.
Song, speak
for me who am dumb as are the dead;
From my
sad bed of tears I send forth thee,
To fly all
day from sun's birth to sun's death
Down the
sun's way after the flying sun,
For love
of her that gave thee wings and breath
Ere day be
done, to seek the sunflower.
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This
is a Sestina.
To read more about this form of poetry
click
here
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