Bells and Pomegranates.
That I, French Rudel, choose for my device
A sunflower outspread like a sacrifice
Before its idol: see! These inexpert
And hurried fingers could not fail to hurt
The woven picture; 'tis a woman's skill
Indeed; but nothing baffled me, so, ill
Or well, the work is finished. Say, men feed
On songs I sing, and therefore bask the bees
On the flower's breast as on a platform broad:
But, as the flower's concern is not for these
But solely for the sun, so men applaud
In vain this Rudel, he not looking here
But to the East—the East! Go, say this, Pilgrim dear!
A sunflower outspread like a sacrifice
Before its idol: see! These inexpert
And hurried fingers could not fail to hurt
The woven picture; 'tis a woman's skill
Indeed; but nothing baffled me, so, ill
Or well, the work is finished. Say, men feed
On songs I sing, and therefore bask the bees
On the flower's breast as on a platform broad:
But, as the flower's concern is not for these
But solely for the sun, so men applaud
In vain this Rudel, he not looking here
But to the East—the East! Go, say this, Pilgrim dear!
II.—CRISTINA.
i.
She should never have looked at me,
If she meant I should not love her:
There are plenty . . men, you call such,
I suppose . .she may discover
All her soul to, if she pleases,
And yet leave much as she found them.
But I'm not so, and she knew it
When she fixed me, glancing round them.
She should never have looked at me,
If she meant I should not love her:
There are plenty . . men, you call such,
I suppose . .she may discover
All her soul to, if she pleases,
And yet leave much as she found them.
But I'm not so, and she knew it
When she fixed me, glancing round them.
ii.
What? To fix me thus meant nothing?
But I can't tell . . . there's my weakness . .
What her look said: no vile cant, sure,
About "need to strew the bleakness
What? To fix me thus meant nothing?
But I can't tell . . . there's my weakness . .
What her look said: no vile cant, sure,
About "need to strew the bleakness
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