Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Madeline
For other versions of this work, see Madeline (Tennyson).
MADELINE.
Thou art not steeped in golden languors,No trancéd summercalm is thine,Evervarying Madeline.Through light and shadow thou dost range,Sudden glances, sweet and strange,Delicious spites, and darling angers,And aery forms of flitting change.
Smiling, frowning, evermore,Thou art perfect in lovelore.Revealings deep and clear are thineOf wealthy smiles: but who may knowWhether smile or frown be fleeter?Whether smile or frown be sweeter,Who may know?Frowns perfect-sweet along the browLight-glooming over eyes divineLike little clouds sunfringed, are thine,Evervarying Madeline.Thy smile and frown are not aloofFrom one another,Each to each is dearest brother;Hues of the silken sheeny woofMomently shot into each other.All the mystery is thine;Smiling frowning evermore,Thou art perfect in lovelore,Evervarying Madeline.
A subtle, sudden flame,By veering passion fanned,About thee breaks and dances;When I would kiss thy hand,The flush of angered shameO'erflows thy calmer glances,And o'er black brows drops downA sudden-curvéd frown:But when I turn away,Thou, willing me to stay,Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest;But, looking fixedly the while,All my bounding heart entanglestIn a golden-netted smile;Then in madness and in bliss,If my lips should dare to kissThy taper fingers three times three,Again thou blushest angerly,And o'er black brows drops downA sudden-curvéd frown.