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Male Visions of Women in Romantic and Victorian Poetry


Lady Lilith by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

My beauty, my love, you have bound me
As only you can do.
Wrap your arms and legs around me,
And your agile body too.
And now in mighty embraces
Entwining and holding on
The most beautiful serpent faces
The happiest Laocoön

I do not know what haunts me,
What saddened my mind all day;
An age-old tale confounds me,
A spell I cannot allay.

 The air is cool and in twilight
The Rhine's dark waters flow;
The peak of the mountain in highlight
Reflects the evening glow.

 There sits a lovely maiden
Above, so wondrous fair,
With shining jewels laden,
She combs her golden hair.

It falls through her comb in a shower
And over the valley rings
A song of mysterious power
That lovely maiden sings.

 The boatman in his small skiff is
Seized by turbulent love,
No longer he marks where the cliff is,
He looks to the mountain above.

I think the waves must fling him
Against the reefs nearby,
And that did with her singing
The lovely Loreley.

Daily went the Sultan's beauteous
Daughter walking for her pleasure
In the evening at the fountain
Where the splashing waters whiten.

Daily stood the youthful bondsman
In the evening at the fountain
Where the splashing waters whiten,
Daily he grew pale and paler.

Then one evening stepped the princess
Up to him with sudden questions:
"You must tell me what your name is,
What your country is, your kinfolk."

And the bondsman said: "Mohamet
Is my name, I am from Yemen,
And my kinsmen are the Asra,
They who die when love befalls them."

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

 LA BELLE DAME SAN MERCI

 O what can ail thee, knight at arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake
And no birds sing!

O what can ail thee, knight at arms,
So haggard, and so woebegone?
The squirrel's granary is full
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light
Her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked me as she did love
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend and sing
A faery's song. 

She found me roots of relish sweet
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said
"I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed, ah woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill's side. 

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried, "La belle dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lip in the gloam
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering;
Though the sedge withered from the lake
And no birds sing.

She is the very Lamia of my soul.
Does she not bite subtly? Yea, she leaves one whole,
Red spot, here in my side, where most I feel
The snake untrodden by the woman's heel.
And she as Lamia veritably trod,
With snake's feet and snake's wings, the ground when God
Planted the Tree of Evil and of Good.
Is she not in the blood that feeds my blood?
Where did she bit most cruelly? Near the heart.
O Lamia, Lamia, will you never depart?

LOVE'S CRUELTY

Beauty of Woman, savour of her kiss,
The mystery of love that turns to be
The bite of an eternal cruelty,
O secret, silent creature, what is this,
One memory of so many memories,
That holds me and enfolds me, heart and brain,
If I but see in memory again
The infinite enigma of your eyes?

Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake’s, her sweet tongue could deceive.

And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave.
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
If he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! as that youth’s eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him and left his straight neck bent,
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.

By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand’s light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away
With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes
Her giant heart of Memory and Tears
Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat
Sleep’s heavy measure, they from head to feet
Were moveless, looking through their dead black years,
By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall.
Like sculptured effigies they might be seen
Upon their marriage-tomb, the sword between;
Each wishing for the sword that severs all.

"O ’Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" —
"O didn’t you know I’d been ruined?" said she.

— "You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" —
"Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re ruined," said she.

—"At home in the barton you ’‘’thee’ and ’thou,’
And ’thik oon,’ and ’theas oon,’ and ’t’other’; but now
Your talking quite fits ’ee for high compa-ny!" —
"A polish is gained with one’s ruin," said she.

—"Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak,
But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!" —
"We never do work when we’re ruined," said she.

—"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!" —
"True. One’s pretty lively when ruined," said she.

—"I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" —
"My dear – a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain’t ruined," said she.

When the game began between them for a jest,
He played king and she played queen to match the best;
Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,
These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.

Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;
All the sting and all the stain of long delight;
These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her,
When she played at half a love with half a lover.

Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry;
They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die;
Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow,
Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.

What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain;
How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again;
These were things she came to know, and take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.

We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

 Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz"¹ of Strauss.

 Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

They took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."

But she – she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandaled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.