The Blessed Damozel by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Channel: David Hart
Date: 2011-07-17

The Blessed Damozel by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The Blessed Damozel
By Dante Gabriel Rossetti
1828-1882 
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THE blessed Damozel lean'd out 
         From the gold bar of Heaven: 
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much 
         Than a deep water, even. 
She had three lilies in her hand, 
         And the stars in her hair were seven. 

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, 
         No wrought flowers did adorn, 
But a white rose of Mary's gift 
         On the neck meetly worn; 
And her hair, lying down her back, 
         Was yellow like ripe corn. 

Herseem'd she scarce had been a day 
         One of God's choristers; 
The wonder was not yet quite gone 
         From that still look of hers; 
Albeit, to them she left, her day 
         Had counted as ten years. 

(To one it is ten years of years: 
         ...Yet now, here in this place, 
Surely she lean'd o'er me,--her hair 
         Fell all about my face.... 
Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves. 
         The whole year sets apace.) 

It was the terrace of God's house 
         That she was standing on,-- 
By God built over the sheer depth 
         In which Space is begun; 
So high, that looking downward thence, 
         She scarce could see the sun. 

It lies from Heaven across the flood 
         Of ether, as a bridge. 
Beneath, the tides of day and night 
         With flame and darkness ridge 
The void, as low as where this earth 
         Spins like a fretful midge. 

But in those tracts, with her, it was 
         The peace of utter light 
And silence. For no breeze may stir 
         Along the steady flight 
Of seraphim; no echo there, 
         Beyond all depth or height. 

Heard hardly, some of her new friends, 
         Playing at holy games, 
Spake gentle-mouth'd, among themselves, 
         Their virginal chaste names; 
And the souls, mounting up to God, 
         Went by her like thin flames. 

And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd 
         Into the vast waste calm; 
Till her bosom's pressure must have made 
         The bar she lean'd on warm, 
And the lilies lay as if asleep 
         Along her bended arm. 

From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw 
         Time, like a pulse, shake fierce 
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove, 
         In that steep gulf, to pierce 
The swarm; and then she spoke, as when 
         The stars sang in their spheres. 

'I wish that he were come to me, 
         For he will come,' she said. 
'Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven? 
         On earth, has he not pray'd? 
Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 
         And shall I feel afraid?