The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged intellect to part Error from crime; a prudence to withhold; The laws of marriage character'd in gold Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, A courage to endure and to obey; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon; A clear stream flowing with a muddy one, With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother; A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite, With cluster'd flower-bells and ambrosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other— Shadow forth thee: the world hath not another (Though all her fairest forms are types of thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. MARIANA. "Mariana in the moated grange."--Measure for Measure. I. WITH blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said "I am aweary, aweary; I would that I were dead!" 11. Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said: She said "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!" III. Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light : In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, "The day is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!" IV. About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, Hard by a poplar shook alway, For leagues no other tree did dark She only said, "My life is dreary, I would that I were dead!" |