VENUS VERTICORDIA (FOR A PICTURE)

VENUS VERTICORDIA

(FOR A PICTURE)

She hath the apple in her hand for thee,

Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;

She muses, with her eyes upon the track

Of that which in thy spirit they can see.

Haply, ‘Behold, he is at peace,’ saith she;

‘Alas! the apple for his lips, — the dart

That follows its brief sweetness to his heart, —

The wandering of his feet perpetually!’

A little space her glance is still and coy,

But if she give the fruit that works her spell,

Those eyes shall flame as for her Phrygian boy.

Then shall her bird’s strained throat the woe foretell,

And her far seas moan as a single shell,

And through her dark grove strike the light of Troy.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti VENUS VERTICORDIA Oil on canvas. Circa 1864–1868 Russell-Cotes Art Gallery, Bournemouth

Данте Габриэль Россетти VENUS VERTICORDIA Холст, масло. Ок. 1864–1868 Художественная галерея Рассел-Котс, Борнмут

Читайте также

PROSERPINA (FOR A PICTURE) Afar away the light that brings cold cheer Unto this wall, — one instant and no more Admitted at my distant palace-door. Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here. Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey That chills me: and afar, how far away, The nights that shall be from the days that were. Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing Strange ways in thought,

PANDORA (FOR A PICTURE) What of the end, Pandora? Was it thine, The deed that set these fiery pinions free? Ah! wherefore did the Olympian consistory In its own likeness make thee half divine? Was it that Juno’s brow might stand a sign For ever? and the mien of Pallas be A deadly thing? and that all men might see In Venus’ eyes the gaze of Proserpine? What of the end? These beat their wings at will, The ill-born things, the good things turned to ill,

THE DAY-DREAM (FOR A PICTURE) The thronged boughs of the shadowy sycamore Still bear young leaflets half the summer through; From when the robin ’gainst the unhidden blue Perched dark, till now, deep in the leafy core, The embowered throstle’s urgent wood-notes soar Through summer-silence. Still the leaves come new; Yet never rosy-sheathed as those which drew Their spiral tongues from spring-buds heretofore. Within the branching shade of Reverie Dreams even

MARY’S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE) I This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect God’s Virgin. Gone is a great while, and she Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee. Unto God’s will she brought devout respect, Profound simplicity of intellect, And supreme patience. From her mother’s knee Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity; Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect. So held she through her girlhood; as it were An angel-watered lily, that near

ASTARTE SYRIACA (FOR A PICTURE) Mystery: lo! betwixt the sun and moon Astarte of the Syrians; Venus Queen Ere Aphrodite was. In silver sheen Her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon Of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune: And from her neck’s inclining flower-stem lean Love-freighted lips and absolute eyes that wean The pulse of hearts to the sphere’s dominant tune. Torch-bearing, her sweet ministers compel All thrones of light

VENUS VERTICORDIA (К КАРТИНЕ) Пока что медлит с яблоком рука — Отдать его тебе иль сохранить? А зоркий взгляд прослеживает нить Судьбы твоей — спокойно, свысока. Беспечен ты, и жизнь твоя легка? — Отведай! Сладостью не станешь сыт, Но сердце бедное стрела

‘FOUND’ (FOR A PICTURE) ‘There is a budding morrow in midnight:’ — So sang our Keats, our English nightingale. And here, as lamps across the bridge turn pale In London smokeless resurrection-light, Dark breaks to dawn. But o’er the deadly blight Of love deflowered and sorrow of none avail, Which makes this man gasp and this woman quail, Can day from darkness ever again take flight? Ah! gave not these two hearts their mutual pledge, Under one

A SEA-SPELL (FOR A PICTURE) Her lute hangs shadowed in the apple-tree, While flashing fingers weave the sweet-strung spell Between its chords; and as the wild notes swell, The sea-bird for those branches leaves the sea. But to what sound her listening ear stoops she? What netherworld gulf-whispers doth she hear, In answering echoes from what planisphere, Along the wind, along the estuary? She sinks into her spell: and when full soon