Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems quotes

Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; 30 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, 40 Pricking up her golden head:

… hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire,— Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee,— Like a royal virgin town Topped with gilded dome and spire Close beleaguered by a fleet 420 Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink.

Though the goblins cuffed and caught her, Coaxed and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratched her, pinched her black as ink, Kicked and knocked her, Mauled and mocked her, Lizzie uttered not a word;

(Men sell not such in any town:) Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands 560 Would bid them cling together, '

For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather;

To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.'

… sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track— God guides their wing, He spreads their table that they nothing lack,— Before the daisy grows a common flower, Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.

There is no time like Spring, Like Spring that passes by;

30 There is no life like Spring-life born to die,— Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing:

So I might live a hundred years, And roam from strand to foreign strand, 30 Yet not forget this flooded spring And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland.

My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; 10 Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys;

Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

10 Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned: Only remember me;

Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes, rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept And could not hear him;

and as he turned away Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head:

He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours.

He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm though I am cold.

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers:

A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet, Whereon we may sit In the quiet evening hours.

Let bygones be bygones: Don't call me false, who owed not to be true:

I'd rather answer 'No' to fifty Johns Than answer 'Yes' to you.

20

'A cup for memory!' Cold cup that one must drain alone: 10 While autumn winds are up and moan Across the barren sea.

Hope, memory, love: Hope for fair morn, and love for day, And memory for the evening grey

And solitary dove.

I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: 10 My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.

I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take 100 From aching brows the aureole crown— His locks writhed like a cloven snake— He left his throne to grovel down And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: For what is knowledge duly weighed?

Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet;

Yea all the progress he had made Was but to learn that all is small Save love, for love is all in all.

Look up, rise up: for far above Our palms are grown, our place is set; There we shall meet as once we met And love with old familiar love.

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come.

I bore with thee long weary days and nights, Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, For three and thirty years.

And youth and beauty die. So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth:

Better than beauty and than youth Are Saints and Angels, a glad company;

20 And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease, Are better far than these. Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why Prefer to glean with Ruth?

'

Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late!

You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; 480 The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait.

'Whose heart was breaking for a little love.'

Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all; But in my solitary room above

I turn my face in silence to the wall; My heart is breaking for a little love. Though winter frosts are done, And birds pair every one, And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.

'Wait, for thou shalt prove True best is last, true life is born of death, O thou, heart-broken for a little love. Then love shall fill they girth, 40 And love make fat thy dearth, When new spring builds new heaven and clean new earth.'

Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet To shut our eyes and die:

Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by With flitting butterfly, Nor grass grow long above our heads and feet, Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, Nor sigh that spring is fleet and summer fleet, Nor mark the waxing wheat, …

While I? I sat alone and watched My lot in life, to live alone, In mine own world of interests, Much felt but little shown.

Not to be first: how hard to learn That lifelong lesson of the past;

Line graven on line and stroke on stroke; But, thank God, learned at last.

If you love her best speak up like a man; It's not I will stand in the light of your plan: 10 Some girls might cry and scold you a bit, And say they couldn't bear it; but I can.

Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast; Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last;

Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane, Now dropped away into the past.

Good luck to Kate and good luck to you: I guess she'll be kind when you come to woo. I wish her a pretty face that will last, I wish her a husband steady and true.

Hate you? not I, my very good friend; All things begin and all have an end.

30 But let broken be broken; I put no faith In quacks who set up to patch and mend.

Oh what is a handmaid, Or what is a queen? All must lie down together Where the turf is green, The foulest face hidden, The fairest not seen;

Gone as if never, They had breathed or been.

40

And if that life is life, This is but a breath, The passage of a dream And the shadow of death; But a vain shadow If one considereth; 70

Vanity of vanities, As the Preacher saith.

A smile because the nights are short! And every morning brings such pleasure Of sweet love-making, harmless sport: Love, that makes and finds its treasure; Love, treasure without measure.

Nought we place above his face To mark the spot, But it shows a barren place In our lot. Hope has birth no more on earth Morn or even;

Hope dead lives nevermore, No, not in heaven.

Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring: Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves, Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves, Their own, and others dropped down withering;

Or if a later sadder love be born, Let this not look for grace beyond its scope, But give itself, nor plead for answering truth— A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.

I would not if I could undo my past,

Tho' for its sake my future is a blank; My past, for which I have myself to thank, For all its faults and follies first and last.

And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee? Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right; One exile holds us both, and we are bound To selfsame home-joys in the land of light.

Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?— Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.

A dimness of a glory glimmers here Thro' veils and distance from the space remote, 30 A faintest far vibration of a note Reaches to us and seems to bring us near, Causing our face to glow with braver cheer, Making the serried mist to …

Before the paling of the stars, Before the winter morn, Before the earliest cockcrow Jesus Christ was born:

Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world His hands had made Born a stranger.

Priest and king lay fast asleep In Jerusalem, 10 Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem: Saint and Angel, ox and ass, Kept a watch together, Before the Christmas daybreak In the winter weather.

Lay Him in the garden-rock to rest; Rest you the Sabbath length:

The Sun that went down crimson in the west Shall rise renewed in strength.

God Almighty shall give joy for pain, Shall comfort him who grieves: Lo! He with joy shall doubtless come again, And with Him bring His sheaves. 40

I saw the gate called Beautiful; And looked, but scarce could look, within; I saw the golden streets begin, And outskirts of the glassy pool. Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, Oh green palm-branches many-leaved—

Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived.

40

'Turn again, O my sweetest,—turn again, false and fleetest: This way whereof thou weetest I fear is hell's own track.' 'Nay, too steep for hill-mounting,—nay, too late for cost-counting:

This downhill path is easy, but there's no turning back.

' 20

All others are outside myself, I lock my door and bar them out The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself, And bar them out; but who shall wall Self from myself, most loathed of all?

If I could once lay down myself, 10 And start self-purged upon the race That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could once lay down myself, 10 And start self-purged upon the race That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could set aside myself, And start with lightened heart upon The road by all men overgone!

God harden me against myself, This coward with pathetic voice Who craves for ease, and rest, and joys:

God harden me against myself, This coward with pathetic voice Who craves for ease, and rest, and joys:

Myself, arch-traitor to myself; My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,

20 My clog whatever road I go.

Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed, Fair where I am lying: Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead— He for whom I am dying. 20

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name;

If he never comes, I shall never know it, But sleep on all the same.

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name;

If he never comes, I shall never know it, But sleep on all the same.

We met, hand to hand, We clasped hands close and fast, As close as oak and ivy stand; But it is past: Come day, come night, day comes at last.

Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name; If he never comes, I shall never know it, But sleep on all the same.

We met, hand to hand, We clasped hands close and fast, As close as oak and ivy stand;

But it is past: Come day, come night, day comes at last.

Where my heart is (wherever that may be) Might I but follow! If you fly thither over heath and lea, O honey-seeking bee, O careless swallow, 20 Bid some for whom I watch keep watch for me.

Alas! that we must dwell, my heart and I, So far asunder.

Hours wax to days, and days and days creep by; I watch with wistful eye, I wait and wonder: When will that day draw nigh—that hour draw nigh?

Not yesterday, and not, I think, to-day; Perhaps to-morrow.

Day after day 'to-morrow' thus I say:

30 I watched so yesterday In hope and sorrow, Again to-day I watch the accustomed way.