Stolen Waters by Lewis Carroll
"Stolen Waters" is one of Carroll's few serious poems which gained at least some notoriety. The poem consists of the rhyme scheme ABABA (ABAB for the four line stanzas). It is about becoming enchanted by an old woman who causes him to desire her.
"Stolen Waters" consits of 26 stanzas with varying amounts of lines in each (four or five with no reason). It is written in both iambic tetrameter and iambic triameter.
Stolen Waters The light was faint, and soft the air That breathed around the place; And she was lithe and tall and fair, And with a wayward grace Her queenly head she bare - With glowing cheek, with gleaming eye, She met me on the way; My spirit owned the witchery Within her smile that lay; I followed her, I know not why. The trees were thick with many a fruit, The grass with many a flower; My soul was dead, my tongue was mute In that accursed hour. And in my dream, with silvery voice She said or seemed to say 'Youth is the season to rejoice'- I could not say her nay, I could not choose but stay. She plucked a branch above her head With rarest fruitage laden. 'Drink of the juice sir Knight', she said, 'Tis good for knight and maiden.' Oh blind my eyes that would not trace: Oh deaf my ear that would not heed - The mocking smile upon her face, The mocking voice of greed! I drank the juice and straightway felt A fire within my brain: My soul within me seemed to melt In sweet delirious pain. 'Sweet is the stolen draught' she said: 'Hath sweetness stint or measure? Pleasant the secret hoard of bread: What bars us from our pleasure?' 'Yea, take we pleasure while we may,' I heard myself replying. In the red sunset far away My happier life was dying: My heart was sad, my voice was gay. And unawares, I know not how, I kissed her dainty finger tips, I kissed her on the lily brow, I kissed her on the false, false lips- That burning kiss, I feel it now! 'True love gives true love of the best: Then take', I cried, 'my heart to thee!' The very heart from out my breast I plucked, I gave it willingly. Her very heart she gave to me - Then died the glory from the west. In the gray light I saw her face, And it was withered old and gray: The flowers were fading in their place The grass was fading where we lay. Forth from her, like a hunted deer, Through all that ghastly night I fled, And still behind me seemed to hear Her fierce unflagging tread, And scarce drew breath for fear. Yet marked I well how strangely seemed The heart within my breast to sleep: Silent it lay, or so I dreamed, With never a throb or leap For hers was now my heart, she said, The heart that once had been my own, And in my breast I bore instead A cold cold heart of stone; So grew the morning overhead. The sun shone downward throught the trees His old familiar flame. All ancient sounds upon the breeze From copse and meadow came- But I was not the same They call me mad: I smile, I weep Uncaring how or why Yea, when one's heart is laid asleep, What better than to die? To die! To die? And yet, I drink of Life today Deep as the thirsty traveller drinks Of fountain by the way. My voice is sad, my heart is gay. When yestereve was on the wane I heard a clear voice singing So sweetly that, like summer rain, My happy tears came springing: My human heart returned again. A rosy child - Sitting and singing in a garden fair; The joy of hearing, seeing; The simple joy of being - Or twining roses in the golden hair That ripples free and wild A sweet pale child - Wearily looking to the purple west - Waiting the great Forever That suddeny shall sever The cruel chains that hold her from her rest - By earth joys unbeguiled. An angel-child - Gazing with living eyes on a dead face - The mortal form forsaken, That none may now awaken - That lieth painless, moveless in her place, As though in death she smiled. Be as a child - So shalt thou sing for very joy of breath. So shalt thou wait thy dying In holy transport lying - So pass rejoicing through the gate of Death In garment undefiled. Then call me what they will, I know That now my soul is glad: If this be madness, better so: Far better to be mad, Weeping or smiling as I go. For if I weep, it is that now I see how deep a loss is mine, And feel how brightly round my brow The coronal might shine, Had I but kept my early vow - And if I smile, it is that now I see the promise of the years - The garland waiting for my brow, That must be won with tears - With pain - with death - I care not how.
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