Poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ballad of Life

  I found in dreams a place of wind and flowers,
    Full of sweet trees and colour of glad grass,
    In midst whereof there was
  A lady clothed like summer with sweet hours.
  Her beauty, fervent as a fiery moon,
    Made my blood burn and swoon
      Like a flame rained upon.
  Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids' blue,
  And her mouth's sad red heavy rose all through
      Seemed sad with glad things gone.

  She held a little cithern by the strings,
    Shaped heartwise, strung with subtle-coloured hair
    Of some dead lute-player
  That in dead years had done delicious things.
  The seven strings were named accordingly;
    The first string charity,
      The second tenderness,
  The rest were pleasure, sorrow, sleep, and sin,
  And loving-kindness, that is pity's kin
      And is most pitiless.

  There were three men with her, each garmented
    With gold and shod with gold upon the feet;
    And with plucked ears of wheat
  The first man's hair was wound upon his head:
  His face was red, and his mouth curled and sad;
    All his gold garment had
      Pale stains of dust and rust.
  A riven hood was pulled across his eyes;
  The token of him being upon this wise
      Made for a sign of Lust.

  The next was Shame, with hollow heavy face
    Coloured like green wood when flame kindles it.
    He hath such feeble feet
  They may not well endure in any place.
  His face was full of grey old miseries,
    And all his blood's increase
      Was even increase of pain.
  The last was Fear, that is akin to Death;
  He is Shame's friend, and always as Shame saith
      Fear answers him again.

  My soul said in me; This is marvellous,
    Seeing the air's face is not so delicate
    Nor the sun's grace so great,
  If sin and she be kin or amorous.
  And seeing where maidens served her on their knees,
    I bade one crave of these
      To know the cause thereof.
  Then Fear said: I am Pity that was dead.
  And Shame said: I am Sorrow comforted.
      And Lust said: I am Love.

  Thereat her hands began a lute-playing
    And her sweet mouth a song in a strange tongue;
    And all the while she sung
  There was no sound but long tears following
  Long tears upon men's faces, waxen white
    With extreme sad delight.
      But those three following men
  Became as men raised up among the dead;
  Great glad mouths open and fair cheeks made red
      With child's blood come again.

  Then I said: Now assuredly I see
    My lady is perfect, and transfigureth
    All sin and sorrow and death,
  Making them fair as her own eyelids be,
  Or lips wherein my whole soul's life abides;
    Or as her sweet white sides
      And bosom carved to kiss.
  Now therefore, if her pity further me,
  Doubtless for her sake all my days shall be
      As righteous as she is.

  Forth, ballad, and take roses in both arms,
    Even till the top rose touch thee in the throat
  Where the least thornprick harms;
    And girdled in thy golden singing-coat,
  Come thou before my lady and say this;
    Borgia, thy gold hair's colour burns in me,
      Thy mouth makes beat my blood in feverish rhymes;
    Therefore so many as these roses be,
      Kiss me so many times.
  Then it may be, seeing how sweet she is,
    That she will stoop herself none otherwise
      Than a blown vine-branch doth,
    And kiss thee with soft laughter on thine eyes,
      Ballad, and on thy mouth.

1. Hendecasyllabics
2. Laus Veneris
3. To Catullus
4. Choriambics
5. Madona Mia

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