But touched his lute wherein was audible
The certain secret thing he had to tell:
Only our mirrored eyes met silently
In the low wave; and that sound came to be
The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell.
And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers;
And with his foot and with his wing-feathers
He swept the spring that watered my heart's
drouth.

Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair,
And as I stooped, her own lips rising there
Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth.

II

And now Love sang: but his was such a song,
So meshed with half-remembrance hard to free,
As souls disused in death's sterility
May sing when the new birthday tarries long.
And I was made aware of a dumb throng
That stood aloof, one form by every tree,
All mournful forms, for each was I or she,
The shades of those our days that had no
tongue.

They looked on us, and knew us and were known;

While fast together, alive from the abyss, Clung the soul-wrung implacable close kiss; And pity of self through all made broken moan Which said, "For once, for once, for once alone!"'

And still Love sang, and what he sang was this:

III

"O ye, all ye that walk in Willowwood,

That walk with hollow faces burning white;
What fathom-depth of soul-struck widowhood,
What long, what longer hours, one life-long
night,

Ere ye again, who so in vain have wooed
Your last hope lost, who so in vain invite
Your lips to that their unforgotten food,
Ere ye, ere ye again shall see the light!
Alas! the bitter banks in Willowwood,

With tear-spurge wan, with blood-wort burning red:

Alas! if ever such a pillow could

The leaves drop loosened where the heart-stain glows,

So when the song died did the kiss unclose;
And her face fell back drowned, and was as
gray

As its gray eyes; and if it ever may
Meet mine again I know not if Love knows.
Only I know that I leaned low and drank
A long draught from the water where she sank,
Her breath and all her tears and all her soul:
And as I leaned, I know I felt Love's face
Pressed on my neck with moan of pity and
grace,

Till both our heads were in his aureole.

LXV. KNOWN IN VAIN

As two whose love, first foolish, widening scope,
Knows suddenly, to music high and soft,
The Holy of holies; who because they scoff'd
Are now amazed with shame, nor dare to cope
With the whole truth aloud, lest heaven should
ope;

Yet, at their meetings, laugh not as they laugh'd

In speech; nor speak, at length; but sitting oft
Together, within hopeless sight of hope
For hours are silent:-So it happeneth
When Work and Will awake too late, to gaze
After their life sailed by, and hold their breath.
Ah! who shall dare to search through what sad

GOBLIN MARKET*

But lo! the path is missed, I must go back, And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring

Which once I stained, which since may have grown black.

Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing
As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening,
That the same goal is still on the same track.

LXX. THE HILL SUMMIT

This feast-day of the sun, his altar there
In the broad west has blazed for vesper-song;
And I have loitered in the vale too long
And gaze now a belated worshipper.
Yet may I not forget that I was 'ware,
So journeying, of his face at intervals
Transfigured where the fringed horizon falls,-
A fiery bush with coruscating hair.

And now that I have climbed and won this height,

I must tread downward through the sloping shade

And travel the bewildered tracks till night.
Yet for this hour I still may here be stayed
And see the gold air and the silver fade
And the last bird fly into the last light.

LXXIX. THE MONOCHORD*

Is it this sky's vast vault or ocean's sound
That is Life's self and draws my life from me,
And by instinct ineffable decree

Holds my breath quailing on the bitter bound?
Nay, is it Life or Death, thus thunder-crowned,
That 'mid the tide of all emergency
Now notes my separate wave, and to what sea
Its difficult eddies labour in the ground?
Oh! what is this that knows the road I came,
The flame turned cloud, the cloud returned to

flame,

The lifted shifted steeps and all the way?That draws round me at last this wind-warm

space,

And in regenerate rapture turns my face
Upon the devious coverts of dismay?

A musical instrument of one string, hence, unity. harmony here apparently used to symbolize the ultimate merging of separate lives into one Life.

Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,

Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;-
All ripe together

In summer weather,-
Fair eves that fly;
Morns that pass by,

Come buy, come buy:

Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye;
Come buy, come buy.'

Evening by evening

Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,

With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
'Lie close,' Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:

He

* Of this poem. William M. Rossetti. Christina's brother, writes: "I have more than once heard Christina say that she did not mean anything profound by this fairy tale-it is not a moral apologue consistently carried out in detail. Still the incidents are suggestive, and different minds may be likely to read different messages into them." remarks further that the central point of the story, read merely as a story, is often missed. Lizzie's service to her sister lies in procuring for her a second taste of the goblin fruits, such as those who have once tasted them ever afterward long for, and pine away with longing. but which the goblins themselves will not voluntarily accord.

'We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?' 'Come buy,' call the goblins Hobbling down the glen.

'Oh,' cried Lizzie, 'Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men.' Lizzie covered up her eyes,

Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
'Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,

Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,

One bears a plate,

One lugs a golden dish

Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes.'
'No,' said Lizzie: 'No, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us.
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,

One whisked a tail,

One tramped at a rat's pace,

One crawled like a snail,

Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,3
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With their shrill repeated cry,
'Come buy, come buy.'

When they reached where Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,

Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate;

One began to weave a crown

Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 50 (Men sell not such in any town); One heaved the golden weight

Of dish and fruit to offer her:

'Come buy, come buy,' was still their cry. Laura stared but did not stir,

Longed but had no money.

The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,

The cat-faced purr'd,

The rat-paced spoke a word

100

110

60 Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly

Cried 'Pretty Goblin' still for 'Pretty Polly';
One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
'Good Folk, I have no coin;

To take were to purloin:

I have no copper in my purse,

I have no silver either,

70 And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather

Above the rusty heather.'

'You have much gold upon your head,'
They answered all together:

'Buy from us with a golden curl.'
She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearì,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red.
Sweeter than honey from the rock,

80 Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

90 Lizzie met her at the gate

Full of wise upbraidings:
'Dear, you should not stay so late,
Should not loiter in the glen
Twilight is not good for maidens;
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,

120

130

140

Laura turned cold as stone

260

She night and morning
Caught the goblin's cry:
'Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:'-

Beside the brook, along the glen,
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir

Poor Laura could not hear;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too dear.
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,

way;

So crept to bed, and lay

Silent till Lizzie slept;

Then sat up in a passionate yearning,

But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died

In her gay prime,

In earliest winter time,

310

320

Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of

furze

At twilight, halted by the brook:

And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look.

Laughed every goblin

280 When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling, Flying, running, leaping, Puffing and blowing,

Chuckling, clapping, crowing,

Clucking and gobbling,

Mopping and mowing,5

Full of airs and graces.

Pulling wry faces,

Demure grimaces,

Cat-like and rat-like,

290

Ratel- and wombat-like,

Snail-paced in a hurry,

Parrot-voiced and whistler,

Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes,-
Hugged her and kissed her:

| Squeezed and caressed her:
Stretched up their dishes,
Panniers, and plates:
'Look at our apples

300 Russet and dun,

Bob at our cherries,

330

340

350

5 See The Tempest, IV, i, 47, and note (page 184).