Beatrice E-book

                                      1862
                                    BEATRICE

                                by Lewis Carroll









Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)



                   BEATRICE
-
        IN her eyes is the living light
          Of a wanderer to earth
        From a far celestial height:
          Summers five are all the span-
          Summers five since Time began
        To veil in mists of human night
          A shining angel-birth.
-
        Does an angel look from her eyes?
          Will she suddenly spring away,
        And soar to her home in the skies?
          Beatrice! Blessing and blessed to be!
          Beatrice! Still, as I gaze on thee,
        Visions of two sweet maids arise,
          Whose life was of yesterday:
-
        Of a Beatrice pale and stern,
          With the lips of a dumb despair,
        With the innocent eyes that yearn-
          Yearn for the young sweet hours of life,
          Far from sorrow and far from strife,
                                                         
        For the happy summers, that never return,
          When the world seemed good and fair:
-
        Of a Beatrice glorious, bright-
          Of a sainted, ethereal maid,
        Whose blue eyes are deep fountains of light,
          Cheering the poet that broodeth apart,
          Filling with gladness his desolate heart,
        Like the moon when she shines thro' a cloudless night
          On a world of silence and shade.
-
        And the visions waver and faint,
          And the visions vanish away
        That my fancy delighted to paint-
          She is here at my side, a living child,
          With the glowing cheek and the tresses wild,
        Nor death-pale martyr, nor radiant saint,
          Yet stainless and bright as they.
-
        For I think, if a grim wild beast
                                                         
          Were to come from his charnel-cave,
        From his jungle-home in the East-
          Stealthily creeping with bated breath,
          Stealthily creeping with eyes of death-
        He would all forget his dream of the feast,
          And crouch at her feet a slave.
-
        She would twine her hand in his mane:
          She would prattle in silvery tone,
        Like the tinkle of summer-rain-
          Questioning him with her laughing eyes,
          Questioning him with a glad surprise,
        Till she caught from those fierce eyes again
          The love that lit her own.
-
        And be sure, if a savage heart,
          In a mask of human guise,
        Were to come on her here apart-
          Bound for a dark and a deadly deed,
          Hurrying past with pitiless speed-
                                                         
        He would suddenly falter and guiltily start
          At the glance of her pure blue eyes.
-
      Nay, be sure, if an angel fair,
        A bright seraph undefiled,
      Were to stoop from the trackless air,
        Fain would she linger in glad amaze-
        Lovingly linger to ponder and gaze,
      With a sister's love and a sister's care,
        On the happy, innocent child.
-
   Dec. 4, 1862.
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                         THE END