Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: CHANGE, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: CHANGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: She is unkind, unkind!
Last Line: "I shall not see her to-night."
Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert
Subject(s): Italy; Love - Loss Of; Travel; Italians; Journeys; Trips


SHE is unkind, unkind!
On the windy hill, to-day,
I sat in the sound of the wind.
I knew what the wind would say.
It said ... or seemed to my mind ...
"The flowers are falling away.
The summer," ... it said, ... "will not stay,
And Love will be left behind."

The swallows were swinging themselves
In the leaden-gray air aloft;
Flitting by tens and twelves,
And returning oft and oft;
Like the thousand thoughts in me,
That went, and came, and went,
Not letting me even be
Alone with my discontent.

The hard-vext weary vane
Rattled, and moaned and was still,
In the convent over the plain,
By the side of the windy hill.
It was sad to hear it complain,
So fretful, and weak, and shrill,
Again, and again, and in vain,
While the wind was changing his will.

I thought of our walks last summer
By the convent-walls so green;
Of the first kiss stolen from her,
With no one near to be seen.
I thought (as we wandered on,
Each of us waiting to speak)
How the daylight left us alone,
And left his last light on her cheek.

The plain was as cold and gray
(With its villas like glimmering shells)
As some north-ocean bay.
All dumb in the church were the bells.
In the mist, half a league away,
Lay the little white house where she dwells.

I thought of her face so bright,
By the firelight bending low
O'er her work so neat and white;
Of her singing so soft and slow;
Of her tender-toned "Good-night";
But a very few nights ago.

O'er the convent doors, I could see
A pale and sorrowful-eyed
Madonna looking at me,
As when Our Lord first died.

There was not a lizard or spider
To be seen on the broken walls.
The ruts, with the rain, had grown wider
And blacker since last night's falls.
O'er the universal dulness
There broke not a single beam.
I thought how my love at its fulness
Had changed like a change in a dream.

The olives were shedding fast
About me, to left and right,
In the lap of the scornful blast
Black berries and leaflets white.
I thought of the many romances
One wintry word can blight;
Of the tender and timorous fancies
By a cold look put to flight.

How many noble deeds
Strangled perchance at their birth!
The smoke of the burning weeds
Came up with the steam of the earth,
From the red, wet ledges of soil,
And the sere vines, row over row, --
And the vineyard-men at their toil,
Who sang in the vineyard below.

Last Spring, while I thought of her here,
I found a red rose on the hill.
There it lies, withered and sere!
Let him trust to a woman who will.

I thought how her words had grown colder,
And her fair face colder still,
From the hour whose silence had told her
What has left me heart-broken and ill;
And "Oh!" I thought, ... "if I behold her
Walking there with him under the hill!"

O'er the mist, from the mournful city
The blear lamps gleamed aghast, --
-- "She has neither justice, nor pity,"
I thought, ... "all 's over at last!"
The cold eve came. One star
Through a ragged gray gap forlorn
Fell down from some region afar,
And sickened as soon as born.
I thought, "How long and how lone
The years will seem to be,
When the last of her looks is gone,
And my heart is silent in me!"

One streak of scornful gold,
In the cloudy and billowy west,
Burned with a light as cold
As love in a much-wronged breast.

I thought of her face so fair;
Of her perfect bosom and arm;
Of her deep sweet eyes and hair;
Of her breath so pure and warm;
Of her foot so fine and fairy
Through the meadows where she would pass;
Of the sweep of her skirts so airy
And fragrant over the grass.

I thought ... "Can I live without her
Whatever she do, or say?"
I thought ... "Can I dare to doubt her,
Now when I have given away
My whole self, body and spirit,
To keep, or to cast aside,
To dower or disinherit, --
To use as she may decide?"

The West was beginning to close
O'er the last light burning there.
I thought ... "And when that goes,
The dark will be everywhere!"

Oh! well is it hidden from man
Whatever the Future may bring.
The bells in the church began
On a sudden to sound and swing.
The chimes on the gust were caught,
And rolled up the windy height.
I rose, and returned, and thought ...
"I SHALL NOT SEE HER TO-NIGHT."





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