George Eliot: 3 Poems

George Eliot

(Mary Ann Evans, 1819 – 1880)

 

Blue Wings

Warm whisp’ring through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whis’pring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine ‘mid the golden sheaves:

Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on "Come hither, boy."
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.

I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!

 

Bright, o bright Fedalma

Maiden crowned with glossy blackness,
Lithe as panther forest-roaming,
Long-armed Naiad when she dances
On a stream of ether floating,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!

Form all curves like softness drifted,
Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling,
Far-off music slowly wingèd,
Gently rising, gently sinking,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!

Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf,
Cloud high born in noonday spotless
Sudden perfect like the dew-bead,
Gem of earth and sky begotten,
Bright, o bright Fedalma!

Beauty has no mortal father,
Holy light her form engendered,
Out of tremor yearning, gladness,
Presage sweet, and joy remembered,
Child of light! Child of light!
Child of light, Fedalma!

 

Came a pretty maid

Came a pretty maid
By the moon’s pure light . . .
Loved me well, she said,
Eyes with tears all bright,
A pretty maid.

But too late she strayed,
Moonlight pure was there . . .
She was nought but shade,
Hiding the more fair,
The heav’nly maid.

George Eliot poetry

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