Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Eleanore
For other versions of this work, see Eleanore.
ELEANORE.
Thy dark eyes opened not—Nor first revealed themselves to English air,For there is nothing here,Which, from the outward to the inward brought,Moulded thy baby thought.Far off from human neighbourhood,Thou wert born, on a summer morn,A mile beneath the cedarwood.Thy bounteous forehead was not fannedWith breezes from our oaken glades,But thou wert nursed in some delicious landOf lavish lights, and floating shades:And flattering thy childish thought,The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth,From old wellheads of haunted rills,And the hearts of purple hills,And shadowed coves on a sunny shore,The choicest wealth of all the earth,Jewel or shell, or starry ore,To deck thy cradle, Eleänore.
Or the yellowbanded bees,Through half-open latticesComing in the scented breeze,Fed thee, a child, lying alone,With whitest honey in fairy gardens culled—A glorious child, dreaming alone,In silksoft folds, upon yielding down,With the hum of swarming bees,Into dreamful slumber lulled.
Who may minister to thee?Summer herself should minister To thee, with fruitage goldenrindedOn golden salvers, or it may be,Youngest Autumn, in a bowerGrapethickened from the light, and blindedWith many a deephued bell-like flowerOf fragrant trailers, when the airSleepeth over all the heaven,And the crag that fronts the Even,All along the shadowing shore,Crimsons over an inland meer,Eleanore!
How may fullsailed verse express,How may measured words adoreThe fullflowing harmonyOf thy swanlike stateliness,Eleänore?The luxuriant symmetryOf thy floating gracefulness,Eleänore? Every turn and glance of thine,Every lineament divine,Eleänore,And the steady sunset glow,That stays upon thee? For in theeIs nothing sudden, nothing single;Like two streamins of incense freeFrom one censer, in one shrine,Thought and motion mingle,Mingle ever. Motions flowTo one another, even as tho'They were modulated soTo an unheard melody,Which lives about thee, and a sweepOf richest pauses, evermoreDrawn from each other mellow-deep,Who may express thee, Eleänore?
I stand before thee, Eleänore;I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more.I muse, as in a trance, the whileSlowly, as from a cloud of gold,Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile.I muse, as in a trance, whene'erThe languors of thy lovedeep eyes,Float on to me. I would I wereSo tranced, so rapt in ecstacies,To stand apart, and to adore,Gazing on thee for evermore,Serene, imperial Eleänore!
Sometimes, with most intensityGazing, I seem to seeThought folded over thought, smiling asleep,Slowly awakened, grow so full and deepIn thy large eyes, that, overpowered quite,I cannot veil, or droop my sight,But am as nothing in its light.As though a star, in inmost heaven set,Ev'n while we gaze on it, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly growTo a full face, there like a sun remainFixed—then as slowly fade again,And draw itself to what it was before;So full, so deep, so slow,Thought seems to come and goIn thy large eyes, imperial Eleänore.
As thunderclouds that, hung on high,Did roof noonday with doubt and fear,Floating through an evening atmosphere,Grow golden all about the sky;In thee all passion becomes passionless,Touched by thy spirit's mellowness,Losing his fire and active might,In a silent meditation,Falling into a still delight,And luxury of contemplation:As waves that from the outer deepRoll into a quiet cove,There fall away, and lying still, Having glorious dreams in sleep,Shadow forth the banks at will:Or sometimes they swell and move,Pressing up against the land,With motions of the outer sea:And the selfsame influenceControlleth all the soul and senseOf Passion gazing upon thee.His bowstring slackened, languid Love,Leaning his cheek upon his hand,Droops both his wings, regarding thee,And so would languish evermore,Serene, imperial Eleänore.
But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,When the amorous, odorous wind,Breathes low between the sunset and the moon,Or, in a shadowy saloon,On silken cushions half reclined,I gaze on thee the cloudless noonOf mortal beauty: in its place My heart a charmèd slumber keeps,While I muse upon thy face,And a languid fire creepsThrough my veins to all my frame,Dissolvingly and slowly: soonFrom thy rose-red lips my nameFloweth; then I faint, I swoon,With dinning sound my ears are rife,My tremulous tongue faltereth,I lose my colour, I lose my breath,I drink the cup of a costly death,Brimmed with delirious draughts of warmest life.I die with my delight, beforeI hear what I would hear from thee;Yet tell my name again to me,I would be dying evermore,So dying ever, Eleänore.