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Coventry Patmore - The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto X.Coventry Patmore - The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto X.
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Preludes. I The Joyful Wisdom               Would Wisdom for herself be woo`d,               And wake the foolish from his dream,               She must be glad as well as good,               And must not only be, but seem.               Beauty and joy are hers by right;               And, knowing this, I wonder less               That she`s so scorn`d, when falsely dight               In misery and ugliness.               What`s that which Heaven to man endears,               And that which eyes no sooner see               Than the heart says, with floods of tears,               ‘Ah, that`s the thing which I would be!’               Not childhood, full of frown and fret;               Not youth, impatient to disown               Those visions high, which to forget               Were worse than never to have known;               Not worldlings, in whose fair outside               Nor courtesy nor justice fails,               Thanks to cross-pulling vices tied,               Like Samson`s foxes, by the tails;                  Not poets; real things are dreams,               When dreams are as realities,               And boasters of celestial gleams               Go stumbling aye for want of eyes;               Not patriots nor people`s men,               In whom two worse-match`d evils meet               Than ever sought Adullam`s den,               Base conscience and a high conceit;               Not new-made saints, their feelings iced,               Their joy in man and nature gone,               Who sing ‘O easy yoke of Christ!’               But find `tis hard to get it on;               Not great men, even when they`re good;               The good man whom the time makes great,               By some disgrace of chance or blood,               God fails not to humiliate;               Not these: but souls, found here and there,               Oases in our waste of sin,               Where everything is well and fair,               And Heav`n remits its discipline;               Whose sweet subdual of the world               The worldling scarce can recognise,               And ridicule, against it hurl`d,               Drops with a broken sting and dies;               Who nobly, if they cannot know               Whether a `scutcheon`s dubious field               Carries a falcon or a crow,               Fancy a falcon on the shield;               Yet, ever careful not to hurt               God`s honour, who creates success,               Their praise of even the best desert               Is but to have presumed no less;               Who, should their own life plaudits bring,               Are simply vex`d at heart that such               An easy, yea, delightful thing               Should move the minds of men so much.                  They live by law, not like the fool,               But like the bard, who freely sings               In strictest bonds of rhyme and rule,               And finds in them, not bonds, but wings.               Postponing still their private ease               To courtly custom, appetite,               Subjected to observances,               To banquet goes with full delight;               Nay, continence and gratitude               So cleanse their lives from earth`s alloy,               They taste, in Nature`s common food,               Nothing but spiritual joy.               They shine like Moses in the face,               And teach our hearts, without the rod,               That God`s grace is the only grace,               And all grace is the grace of God. II The Devices               Love, kiss`d by Wisdom, wakes twice Love,               And Wisdom is, thro` loving, wise.               Let Dove and Snake, and Snake and Dove,               This Wisdom`s be, that Love`s device. Going To  Church. I               I woke at three; for I was bid               To breakfast with the Dean at nine,               And thence to Church. My curtain slid,               I found the dawning Sunday fine;               And could not rest, so rose. The air               Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds                  Cheep`d, ‘Here am I, Sweet; are you there?’               On Avon`s misty flats the herds               Expected, comfortless, the day,               Which slowly fired the clouds above;               The cock scream`d, somewhere far away;               In sleep the matrimonial dove               Was crooning; no wind waked the wood,               Nor moved the midnight river-damps,               Nor thrill`d the poplar; quiet stood               The chestnut with its thousand lamps;               The moon shone yet, but weak and drear,               And seem`d to watch, with bated breath,               The landscape, all made sharp and clear               By stillness, as a face by death. II               My pray`rs for her being done, I took               Occasion by the quiet hour               To find and know, by Rule and Book,                 The rights of love`s beloved power. III                 Fronting the question without ruth,                 Nor ignorant that, evermore,                 If men will stoop to kiss the Truth,                 She lifts them higher than before,                 I, from above, such light required                 As now should once for all destroy                 The folly which at times desired                 A sanction for so great a joy. IV                 Thenceforth, and through that pray`r, I trod                 A path with no suspicions dim.                 I loved her in the name of God,                 And for the ray she was of Him;                    I ought to admire much more, not less;                 Her beauty was a godly grace;                 The mystery of loveliness,                 Which made an altar of her face,                 Was not of the flesh, though that was fair,                 But a most pure and living light                 Without a name, by which the rare                 And virtuous spirit flamed to sight.                 If oft, in love, effect lack`d cause                 And cause effect, `twere vain to soar                 Reasons to seek for that which was                 Reason itself, or something more.                 My joy was no idolatry                 Upon the ends of the vile earth bent,                 For when I loved her most then I                 Most yearn`d for more divine content.                 That other doubt, which, like a ghost,                 In the brain`s darkness haunted me,                 Was thus resolved: Him loved I most,                 But her I loved most sensibly.                 Lastly, my giddiest hope allow`d                 No selfish thought, or earthly smirch;                 And forth I went, in peace, and proud                 To take my passion into Church;                 Grateful and glad to think that all                 Such doubts would seem entirely vain                 To her whose nature`s lighter fall                 Made no divorce of heart from brain. V                 I found them, with exactest grace                 And fresh as Spring, for Spring attired;                 And by the radiance in her face                 I saw she felt she was admired;                 And, through the common luck of love,                 A moment`s fortunate delay,                    To fit the little lilac glove,                 Gave me her arm; and I and they                 (They true to this and every hour,                 As if attended on by Time),                 Enter`d the Church while yet the tower                 Was noisy with the finish`d chime. VI                 Her soft voice, singularly heard                 Beside me, in her chant, withstood                 The roar of voices, like a bird                 Sole warbling in a windy wood;                 And, when we knelt, she seem`d to be                 An angel teaching me to pray;                 And all through the high Liturgy                 My spirit rejoiced without allay,                 Being, for once, borne clearly above                 All banks and bars of ignorance,                 By this bright spring-tide of pure love                 And floated in a free expanse,                 Whence it could see from side to side,                 The obscurity from every part                 Winnow`d away and purified                 By the vibrations of my heart.
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