Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: CORDELIA, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: CORDELIA, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Though thou never hast sought to divine
Last Line: That must yearn after thine till it dies.
Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert
Subject(s): Netherlands; Travel; Holland; Dutch People; Journeys; Trips


THOUGH thou never hast sought to divine it,
Though to know it thou hast not a care,
Yet my heart can no longer confine it,
Though my lip may be blanched to declare
That I love thee, revere thee, adore thee,
O my dream, my desire, my despair!

Though in life it may never be given
To my heart to repose upon thine;
Though neither on earth, nor in heaven,
May the bliss I have dreamed of be mine;
Yet thou canst not forbid me, in distance,
And silence, and long lonely years,
To love thee, despite thy resistance,
And bless thee, despite of my tears.

Ah me, couldst thou love me! ...Believe me,
How I hang on the tones of thy voice;
How the least sigh thou sighest can grieve me.
The least smile thou smilest rejoice:
In thy face, how I watch every shade there;
In thine eyes, how I learn every look;
How the least sign thy spirit hath made there
My heart reads, and writes in its book!

And each day of my life my love shapes me
From the mien that thou wearest, Beloved.
Thou hast not a grace that escapes me,
Nor a movement that leaves me unmoved.
I live but to see thee, to hear thee;
I count but the hours where thou art;
I ask -- only ask -- to be near thee,
Albeit so far from thy heart.

In my life's lonely galleries never
Will be silenced thy lightest footfall:
For it lingers, and echoes, forever
Unto Memory mourning o'er all.
All thy fair little footsteps are bright
O'er the dark troubled spirit in me,
As the tracks of some sweet water-sprite
O'er the heaving and desolate sea.
And, though cold and unkind be thine eyes,
Yet, unchilled their unkindness below,
In my heart all its love for thee lies,
Like a violet covered by snow.

Little child! ...were it mine to watch o'er thee,
To guide, and to guard, and to soothe;
To shape the long pathway before thee,
And all that was rugged to smooth;
To kneel at one bedside by night,
And mingle our souls in one prayer;
And, awaked by the same morning-light,
The same daily duties to share;

Until Age with his silver dimmed slowly
Those dear golden tresses of thine;
And Memory rendered thrice holy
The love in this poor heart of mine;

Ah, never...(recalling together,
By one hearth, in our life's winter time,
Our youth, with its lost summer weather,
And our love, in its first golden prime,)
Should those loved lips have cause to record
One word of unkindness from me,
Or my heart cease to bless the least word
Of kindness once spoken by thee!

But, whatever my path, and whatever
The future may fashion for thine,
Thy life, O believe me, can never,
My beloved, be indifferent to mine.
When far from the sight of thy beauty,
Pursuing, unaided, alone,
The path of man's difficult duty
In the land where my lot may be thrown;
When my steps move no more in the place
Where thou art: and the brief days of yore
Are forgotten: and even my face
In thy life is remembered no more;
Yet in my life will live thy least feature;
I shall mourn the lost light of thine eyes;
And on earth there will yet be one nature
That must yearn after thine till it dies.





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