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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359165" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Angel In The House. Book I. The Prologue.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Mine is no horse with wings, to gain<br>‘The region of the spheral chime;<br>‘He does but drag a rumbling wain,<br>‘Cheer'd by the coupled bells of rhyme;<br>‘And if at Fame's bewitching note<br>‘My homely Pegasus pricks an ear,<br>‘The world's cart-collar hugs his throat,<br>‘And he's too sage to kick or rear.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.<br>Thus ever answer'd Vaughan his Wife,<br>Who, more than he, desired his fame;<br>But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife<br>How for her sake to earn a name.<br>With bays poetic three times crown'd,<br>And other college honours won,<br>He, if he chose, might be renown'd,<br>He had but little doubt, she none;<br>And in a loftier phrase he talk'd<br>With her, upon their Wedding-Day,<br>(The eighth), while through the fields they walk'd,<br>Their children shouting by the way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.<br>‘Not careless of the gift of song,<br>‘Nor out of love with noble fame,<br>‘I, meditating much and long<br>‘What I should sing, how win a name,<br>‘Considering well what theme unsung,<br>‘What reason worth the cost of rhyme,<br>‘Remains to loose the poet's tongue<br>‘In these last days, the dregs of time,<br>‘Learn that to me, though born so late,<br>‘There does, beyond desert, befall<br>‘(May my great fortune make me great!)<br>‘The first of themes, sung last of all.<br>‘In green and undiscover'd ground,<br>‘Yet near where many others sing,<br>‘I have the very well-head found<br>‘Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.<br>Then she: ‘What is it, Dear? The Life<br>‘Of Arthur, or Jerusalem's Fall?’<br>‘Neither: your gentle self, my Wife,<br>‘And love, that grows from one to all.<br>‘And if I faithfully proclaim<br>‘Of these the exceeding worthiness,<br>‘Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame<br>‘Shall, to your hope, my brows caress;<br>‘And if, by virtue of my choice<br>‘Of this, the most heart-touching theme<br>‘That ever tuned a poet's voice,<br>‘I live, as I am bold to dream,<br>‘To be delight to many days,<br>‘And into silence only cease<br>‘When those are still, who shared their bays<br>‘With Laura and with Beatrice, <br>‘Imagine, Love, how learned men<br>‘Will deep-conceiv'd devices find,<br>‘Beyond my purpose and my ken,<br>‘An ancient bard of simple mind.<br>‘You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse,<br>‘Were you for mortal woman meant?<br>Your praises give a hundred clues<br>‘To mythological intent!<br>And, severing thus the truth from trope,<br>‘In you the Commentators see<br>‘Outlines occult of abstract scope,<br>‘A future for philosophy!<br>‘Your arm's on mine! these are the meads<br>‘In which we pass our living days;<br>‘There Avon runs, now hid with reeds,<br>‘Now brightly brimming pebbly bays;<br>‘Those are our children's songs that come<br>‘With bells and bleatings of the sheep;<br>‘And there, in yonder English home,<br>‘We thrive on mortal food and sleep!’<br>She laugh'd. How proud she always was<br>To feel how proud he was of her!<br>But he had grown distraught, because<br>The Muse's mood began to stir.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>His purpose with performance crown'd,<br>He to his well-pleased Wife rehears'd,<br>When next their Wedding-Day came round,<br>His leisure's labour, ‘Book the First.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Coventry+Patmore">Coventry Patmore</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359165" data-title="The Angel In The House. Book I. The Prologue. de Coventry Patmore" data-description="I.
Mine is no horse with wings, to gain
‘The region of the spheral chime;
‘He does but drag a rumbling wain,
‘Cheer'd by the coupled bells of rhyme;
‘And if at Fame's bewitching note
‘My homely Pegasus pricks an ear,
‘The world's cart-..."></div>
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