Wishes
Whoe’er she be,
That not impossible She,
That shall command my heart and me;
Where’er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye,
In shady leaves of Destiny;
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine;
Meet you her, my wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called my absent kisses.
The poet is supposing that the girl whom he is to marry may not as yet even have been born, for though men in the world of scholarship can marry only late in life, the wife is generally quite young. Marriage is far away in the future for the student, therefore these fancies. What he means to say in short is about like this:
“Oh, my wishes, go out of my heart and look for the being whom I am destined to marry—find the soul of her, whether born or yet unborn, and tell that soul of the love that is waiting for it.” Then he tries to describe the imagined woman he hopes to find:
I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy ’tire or glist’ring shoe-tie.
Something more than
Taffeta or tissue can;
Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
More than the spoil
Of shop or silk worm’s toil,
Or a bought blush, or a set smile.
A face that’s best
By its own beauty drest
And can alone command the rest.
A face made up
Out of no other shop
Than what nature’s white hand sets ope.
A cheek where grows
More than a morning rose
Which to no box his being owes.
Eyes that displace
The neighbor diamond and outface
That sunshine by their own sweet grace.
Tresses that wear
Jewels, but to declare
How much themselves more precious are.
Smiles, that can warm
The blood, yet teach a charm
That chastity shall take no harm.
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say “Welcome, friend!”
There is much more, but the best of the thoughts are here. They are not exactly new thoughts, nor strange thoughts, but they are finely expressed in a strong and simple way.
There is another composition on the same subject—the imaginary spouse, the destined one. But this is written by a woman, Christina Rossetti.