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lirik lagu a ballad of death by algernon charles swinburne - algernon charles swinburne

kneel down, fair love, and fill thyself with tears
girdle thyself with sighing for a girth
upon the sides of mirth
cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears
be filled with rumour of people sorrowing;
make thee soft raiment out of woven sighs
upon the flesh to cleave
set pains therein and many a grievous thing
and many sorrows after each his wise
for armlet and for gorget and for sleeve

o love’s lute heard about the lands of death
left hanged upon the trees that wеre therein;
o lovе and time and sin
three singing mouths that mourn now underbreath
three lovers, each one evil spoken of;
o smitten lips wherethrough this voice of mine
came softer with her praise;
abide a little for our lady’s love
the kisses of her mouth were more than wine
and more than peace the passage of her days

o love, thou knowest if she were good to see
o time, thou shalt not find in any land
till, cast out of thine hand
the sunlight and the moonlight fail from thee
another woman fashioned like as this
o sin, thou knowest that all thy shame in her
was made a goodly thing;
yea, she caught shame and shamed him with her kiss
with her fair kiss, and lips much lovelier
than lips of amorous roses in late spring
by night there stood over against my bed
queen venus with a hood striped gold and black
both sides drawn fully back
from brows wherein the sad blood failed of red
and temples drained of purple and full of death
her curled hair had the wave of sea~water
and the sea’s gold in it
her eyes were as a dove’s that sickeneth
strewn dust of gold she had shed over her
and pearl and purple and amber on her feet

upon her raiment of dyed sendaline
were painted all the secret ways of love
and covered things thereof
that hold delight as grape~flowers hold their wine;
red mouths of maidens and red feet of doves
and brides that kept within the bride~chamber
their garment of soft shame
and weeping faces of the wearied loves
that swoon in sleep and awake wearier
with heat of lips and hair shed out like flame

the tears that through her eyelids fell on me
made mine own bitter where they ran between
as blood had fallen therein
she saying; arise, lift up thine eyes and see
if any glad thing be or any good
now the best thing is taken forth of us;
even she to whom all praise
was as one flower in a great multitude
one glorious flower of many and glorious
one day found gracious among many days:
even she whose handmaiden was love—to whom
at kissing times across her stateliest bed
kings bowed themselves and shed
pale wine, and honey with the honeycomb
and spikenard bruised for a burnt~offering;
even she between whose lips the kiss became
as fire and frankincense;
whose hair was as gold raiment on a king
whose eyes were as the morning purged with flame
whose eyelids as sweet savour issuing thence

then i beheld, and lo on the other side
my lady’s likeness crowned and robed and dead
sweet still, but now not red
was the shut mouth whereby men lived and died
and sweet, but emptied of the blood’s blue shade
the great curled eyelids that withheld her eyes
and sweet, but like spoilt gold
the weight of colour in her tresses weighed
and sweet, but as a vesture with new dyes
the body that was clothed with love of old

ah! that my tears filled all her woven hair
and all the hollow bosom of her gown—
ah! that my tears ran down
even to the place where many kisses were
even where her parted breast~flowers have place
even where they are cloven apart—who knows not this?
ah! the flowers cleave apart
and their sweet fills the tender intersp~ce;
ah! the leaves grown thereof were things to kiss
ere their fine gold was tarnished at the heart
ah! in the days when god did good to me
each part about her was a righteous thing;
her mouth an almsgiving
the glory of her garments charity
the beauty of her bosom a good deed
in the good days when god kept sight of us;
love lay upon her eyes
and on that hair whereof the world takes heed;
and all her body was more virtuous
than souls of women fashioned otherwise

now, ballad, gather poppies in thine hands
and sheaves of brier and many rusted sheaves
rain~rotten in rank lands
waste marigold and late unhappy leaves
and grass that fades ere any of it be mown;
and when thy bosom is filled full thereof
seek out death’s face ere the light altereth
and say “my master that was thrall to love
is become thrall to death.”
bow down before him, ballad, sigh and groan
but make no sojourn in thy outgoing;
for haply it may be
that when thy feet return at evening
death shall come in with thee

- lirik lagu a ballad of death by algernon charles swinburne

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